Deeper than words go

 

Deeper than words go,
well below
the summer sun’s
warming glow
and the scalpel’s reach,
wounds graffiti the human soul.

Old abandoned wounds,
overgrown, derelict, dark,
littered with decaying damp detritus.

Sparkly new wounds,
grand designs
glistening with fresh, pungent paint;
landscaped to perfection.

The wounds of human existence
that outlast old age, sore as hell;
seeping,
weeping,
leaking pain,
poisoning the soul’s resistance
to the shadows of the past.

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