Alone in a ball on the floor

Like a dog who’s wounded to the core

Seeing the bright flash of red

From the cuts that left me for dead

I should be enjoying this moment

Caressing the time, I am free and content

But instead I am left counting

The reality of your hatred and dread

Wounds heal and feelings feel

Days go by and memories reel

I am left to heal alone in my ball

But I will rise no matter how many falls

That unseen Hand reaches in to console

Forgiving and persuading to hear the call

Upward ever upward; you will not win

For I am His child and me He defends



Published by: writersdream9

I have been writing all my life but for the most part, it has been a secret. My parents did not believe writing was a good way to earn money so I hid my poems. Then one day, I wanted to comment on an essay that a friend had written and found myself with a blog. That quiet whisper inside said, "You can write your poetry and no one will ever know.". I knew nothing of followers and the like at that time. So, here I am trying to learn my craft and enjoying every moment of it. My personal details are, I'm 57, married for 39 years, have one grown son who is God's gift to us and last but not least at all, I'm a Baha'i which basically means that I love all humanity.

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6 thoughts on “Wounds”

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