Cuts

There have always been cuts —
small, surface wounds,
never very deep — but
she would sew them up after,
an expert at the stitching,
never leaving a noticeable
scar,
blending tears and touch
to salve the pain.

Lately, though,
the cuts are deeper,
and she leaves them open.
They fester,
will not heal,
slowly bleed,
droplets falling to decorate
the floor
in a splatter pattern,
like petals
falling from a dying rose.

There have always been cuts.
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10 Comments

Filed under Poetry

10 responses to “Cuts

  1. like petals
    falling from a dying rose.

    Such a strong & poignant image.

  2. There’s intrigue and darkness in your words Mark ~ Those cuts, shallow and deep, always hurt ~

  3. I really like the metaphors you have worked with. I feel like being over-pruned…

  4. I know those drops that fall. The older I grow, the more I see them and my pity drops on the floor next to them and my tears – sorry for the inadvertent hurts that my words, sometimes no words make. Excellent poem – the metaphor has wings.

  5. Striking and stirring, Mark! Your work still inspires!

  6. It hurts when allowed to fester without control. Great observation of human weakness, Mark!

    Hank

  7. It hurts when allowed to fester on without control. Great observation of human weakness, Mark!

    Hank

  8. Shallow or deep, visible or not, those cuts are wounds. Powerful closing “there have always been cuts”

  9. SMiLes..
    so
    sAdly
    dYing iS
    cumulative
    aS LiFe..
    and
    so
    iS
    LifE wTth
    greaTest
    gratiTude..
    mY friEnd..:)

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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