The Colors I Wear Poem by Jackie Allen

I wonder, does time truly heal the wounds
of loss, of emptiness? Can it heal pain,
Sorrow, grief, the wailing of self-blaming?
The truth is a stain. It colors the bruises I wear.

The trail-like tracers speeding in their race
Despite the cold, despite the heat, the sky
Above Wolf Pen Hollow flares up, blazes~
Merging cries, echoing mourning’s pale face.

I wonder if time really heals all wounds?
And if from loss, a life filled with sorrow
Can regain purpose, and if the voice of rage
Might be too much effort to be silenced?

The stars and moon, above Wolf Pen Hollow,
Despite sorrow, despite the bold night’s face
Dance an erie dance, they glance down, and I
I am overcome with shadows groaning.

I wonder, if time can heal wounded hearts,
How might mine be lifted up, and how might
Wolf Pen Hollow be relieved from bearing
This burden of hardship, this way of life?

I, for one, have no other course to take~
Despite the storm, despite the clouds
No choice except to tarry on, tis my fate~
The truth is a stain. It colors the bruises I wear.