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Thursday, October 25, 2018

Poetry 138: Wounds That Do Not Heal

Wounds That Do Not Heal

There are some wounds

that do not heal.


Wounds that ache

when the wind blows

and cry-out when

the dew point

Is high.


Wounds we might

“forget,” sort of,

until we come

face-to-face

with that which was

unbearable.


Fortunately,

these wounds

do not live at

the surface

of existence.


No, these particular

old injuries

are buried deep

underground—

consciously, unconsciously—

so that life can

move forward.


It’s hard, sometimes,

to respect the intuition

of the psyche,

who decided for me

long ago,

to go so deep with

this one.


Even though

it is,

most obviously,

counter-intuitive,

counter-productive and

counter-evolutionary

for the larger whole.


But like that nosey

neighbor who

means so well,

when my wits and

wisdom are about me,

I choose

a response of

compassion.


A choice that invokes

and embodies

all the tenderness

one can muster, to soothe

the ache, to rock the

soul, until the bleeding

stops.


Again.

-Me

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