Old Wounds

OLD WOUNDS

Old scars if rubbed

Will scab and bleed;

Old aches return

With pressure.

A wounded heart

Of anger freed

Heals and breaks

In equal measure

The Old Wound

The old wound pulls

me back and back,

tugs me a salt-filled ache

into the blood and mud

and mist, the smell of sulfur

and the blueblack metal dark,

always the dark.

I turn away my eyes,

turn my eyes away

unto the hills where comes

no peace, no peace I find,

only a scar, a darker lore,

extraordinary passions

and the wound.