Only The Wounded

A two part poem about the loss of innocence and the lens in which we view the world when we have been hurt. About change, morbidity, memories you'd rather forget, and the child inside us that needs to heal.

I

Summer Shadows

 

So another new day comes crawling across the sky

In this murky, molten sunrise

The summer shadows grow

deep enough to drown in

Fears unite us with neglected inner children

We listen to the rain, feel it soak

Into our skin and if we didn't know better

We'd mistake it for blood

Scratching at scabs

Reopening those

Weeping sores, tearing open the scars

That should have healed

We just can't let go

We can't move forward, ignoring the child's voice

Wanting to look up at the rain, drink it in, and heal

So we whistle through the graveyard

But soon become mute

Terrified to make a sound

To make a stand

II

The Coffin Lid

 

The frozen angels never move

No matter how much

We want them to

Skin dissolving like liquid mercury

As the water erodes the years

We tried to forget

Broken-jawed monsters

With earthworm tongues and granite fangs

Will scrape us raw and leave us trembling

Caught in our own personal winter

Toes curl

(It looks like an infestation)

Mouths grimace

(It tastes like a bad memory)

Nails fill with dirt clawing at the coffin lid

(It feels like I've done this before)

We buried ourselves alive

We realize now as the day draws to a close

And these persistent summer shadows grow

Longer and longer

That they are sharp enough

To cut

But we've been bleeding for years

A chill remains beneath this fledgling season

And only the wounded can feel it.

The End

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