Words - the Ordnance

Long ago, there lived a man
Who'd always been a sourpuss.
For he never knew that our lifespan
Is dependent on what we confess.

He flapped his tongue
With gloomy, denial morpheme;
All morose, dark and despairing.
As he said, the outcome was a cataclysm.

Whatever he stepped in
Was a catastrophic mess.
He floundered and broke down
Unbeknownst of his Freudian slips.

One fair day, as he went out,
He purchased an offprint:
'Tongue and it's powers' it was about.
And he went over it.

He deciphered what his fault was:
Being a 'prophet of doom'
He's now got odds to change his lapse:
Cynism to optimism.

By the fruit of his lips
A man enjoys goodness.
But the foolish rips
His life by stuff he confesses.

Pleasant words are sweet to the soul
And healthy to the bones;
A man's stomach is overfull
By what he intones.

The power of the tongue
Holds endurance and inanimacy;
For it is infernal and searing
Which controls the subsistency.

What we sow, that we reap;
Let us sow happiness, faith,
Love, truth and hope,
That we harvest virtue and worth.

Joy comes to the man
With the reply of his mouth.
Let us speak nothing mean
Since our words possess strength.

Inspired from Charles Capps' Tongue - a creative force. Thanks to my uncle who lent me the book.