Always coming and going

I’m befuddled by words; by their sparsity when called for and their sometimes overabundance. They are such potent packets of potential; a turn of a word can save souls or send everything into oblivion. I doubt I’ll ever be master of them and right now feel they may have bested me; but unlike a competition where there is a clear path from play to victory or loss, I can’t seem to understand the rules of the game. I feel like I have the wrong gear for the field I am on; that I may have injured another player and lack protection where an errant ball may strike sorely.
8 July…slowly finding the words that resolve the life that words sometimes abuse.