Wounds Poems

I explain quietly. You
hear me shouting. You
try a new tack. I
feel old wounds reopen.
...

I have scarcely left you
When you go in me, crystalline,
Or trembling,
Or uneasy, wounded by me
...

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I'm mistaken, after all.
Please, don't be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
...

My son aged three fell in the nettle bed.
'Bed' seemed a curious name for those green spears,
That regiment of spite behind the shed:
It was no place for rest. With sobs and tears
...

You could have been more polite observing me,
Your harsh words have left
An indelible impression,
Hatred can be won by love alone,
...

Somewhere, sometime, you were Wounded
Maybe as early as infancy when you were denied
All the essentials of the bonding experience
Perhaps the wounds were inflicted
...

The anguish of the earth absolves our eyes
Till beauty shines in all that we can see.
War is our scourge; yet war has made us wise,
And, fighting for our freedom, we are free.
...

All that I owe the fellows of the grave
And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates
Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood,
Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots.
...

.
...

It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
...

God knew that I need someone
To keep as a treasure in my heart.
Someone who is so true
Fine and caring.
...

O
Out of a bed of love
When that immortal hospital made one more moove to soothe
The curless counted body,
...

I will confess
With cheerfulness,
Love is a thing so likes me,
That, let her lay
...

You will forget me. The years are so tender,
They bind up the wounds which we think are so deep,
This dream of our youth will fade out as the splendour
Fades from the skies when the sun sinks to sleep,
...

SAY not the struggle naught availeth,
   The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
   And as things have been they remain.
...

Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal -- these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease --
...

Late-born and woman-souled I dare not hope,
The freshness of the elder lays, the might
Of manly, modern passion shall alight
Upon my Muse's lips, nor may I cope
...

By night when others soundly slept
And hath at once both ease and Rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.
...

How happy is he born or taught,
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his highest skill;
...

By night when others soundly slept,
And had at once both case and rest,
My waking eyes were open kept
And so to lie I found it best.
...

'I am afraid to hear her name in the hush whispers of conversations - opening old wounds.'

- Atticus Li
...

In shadows of sorrow, two hearts_entwined, Teenage, echoes, _emotions malinged. Loneliness_whispered, a silent decree, Love_bloomed amidst a storm at sea.__Depressed reflections, a mirror_so cold, two souls embraced, a_story unfolds. Worry and anxiety, _silent fears grow, In toxic love, _they dance to and fro.__Empathy's veil, a fragile_disguise, Remorse for the pain, _reflected in eyes. Loss haunts_their steps, a relentless ghost, _Self-inflicted wounds, a love_engrossed.__Hurt and misery, woven in strife, _Despair echoes in the tapestry of_life. Isolation grip, a solitary_plea, A choice to make, between_love and the sea.__In the tempest of emotions, they _stand, decisions weigh heavy, _like shifting sand. Will they heal_the wounds they've sown, Or let_the tide of darkness drown their own? _
...

My Fair Land
I am not apt to embrace your wounds and truths my fair land we have dwelt too long afar
Onto you I bestow my love yet those eyes will not see at morn your heavy breath reaches my ears lusting evermore
I hear your laughter in twilight born howling like a temptress in rapture
...

They say that Time is magical…that she makes everything brand new
They say that Time can heal all wounds…but…I don't believe that's true.

I believe there are some wounds so deep…so sorrowful
...

who wounds my heart
my house is in the woods, clew;
I will not see you stopping there
my little house weeping still, inside the sleeping
...

If you decide to be happy,
your happiness will heal you.

Happiness will heal your wounds,
...

There are wounds
which no one can see.

There are wounds
...

There are wounds
Which no one can see.
There are wounds
Which you want to hide.
...

This afternoon has always been that afternoon Flowers with the faces of bats laugh even more happily Hospital windows like the whites of the eyes of staring corpses Afternoon seemingly fragmented Scent of flowers invited into the homes around Ash swirling from chimneys turns more colourful The false teeth of angels are exposed Holding down age like holding down a skirt lifted by a wild wind With a laugh a cruel spring Another laugh and the sound lifts the garden to heaven Things not imagined will never be born People living close to wounds detect smells Wounds drenched by rain split exude fragrance A garden crams in all afternoons Bodies are decked with paper flowers paper the only decoration Bones shine black branches sprout bone-like nodes In the depths of corpses the petals of flowers gestate Worms crawl about under skin This loneliness is sweet and rancid there is always This loneliness when the soil of the heart is crumbled by roots When each hospital has been gift-wrapped Wounds are bright and lush in the sunlight Looking so real Cicadas keep drinking blood keep Creating heartless laughter from an empty shell And even happier gardens proliferate everywhere Gradually disintegrating with the shrill cries of bats Subtle fragrances of an afternoon roll up the world Leaving not even wounds leaving only the swollen moon Still the colour of flesh still watching over an unblemished black night
...

They call our kind "Damaged souls" Damaged why? Because we have a dark past? Because someone we once cared made us feel unloved?
...