Wounds seldom speak, in silence and in wain
Hidden in places deep, bleat and been weak,
Scars unseen, rise up and it fall,
Echoing thoughts what that still recalls.

A cut that may fade, a bruise may not heal,
Thoughts endure, they’re harder, feather feel,
Quiet corners it lurks, they take their flight,
Haunting the heart in the dead of the night.

Wounds of flesh, they sting and they stride,
But it’s the mind that bears the lasting part,
Thoughts like shadows stretch and set aside,
Nurturing pain it says and stays apart.

Yet in these depth of them wounds untold,
Resides a strength, a heart made of stone,
For thoughts that wound can also be toned,
In time, they’ll guide thy soul not to be scold.

And from that pain, we rise renew afew,
Scars that mark what we’ve been through,
Thoughts may falter, but still they soar,
For in every wound, there’s something little bit more.

© TheRetro_Reader