Stick & Stone

The prickly thorn snags a thread, unraveling thoughts inside my head.
The words become frayed, and now I'm afraid, I might have said too much.
The consonants leave and constantly weave the words I was trying to hide.
So in order to bolster, out of my holster comes the tool to fix the flaws.
It betters the blade, the color of Jade, and shines very mighty indeed.
It crosses the scroll, beyond my control, a life of it's own it has taken.
When it's complete, I look at the sheet, and see the shape it has formed.
The grouping of words, like beasts in a herd, stampede to the end of the page.
With a sigh of relief, expelling the grief, the pain I have borne laid to rest.