Hiding under warm, soothing blankets,
One has retracted from a false battlefield
Thinking there was something to gain or clasp,
Grieving now a loss.
In bloody stains he seems to be covered,
The heavy clothes need to be shredded,
Those thoughts of brokenness and nullity
Are leading one astray.
Healing is just a metaphor for reflection,
Only when a face is worn
Tales of suffering can be told.
Essence cannot be cut, punctured,
Hurt or dimmed,
One's Self is forever untouched,
Has never met the harm.
Topic(s) of this poem: self discovery, life, truth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.