Healing and Repair

I found this short poem scribbled in my old textbook of Pathology. I wonder why I don’t learn through verse anymore?

Scars do not bleed.

Scabs spill scarlet,

If you pick them.

Scars do not hurt.

Scabs throb badly,

If your nurse them.

Scars do not heal.

Scabs can mend,

If you let them.

©Aaysid

Image by congerdesign from Pixabay

Published by Aaysid

I am a science person, at least that is what I do for a living, but a good part of my heart has always found a home in the written word. That could explain why it stays quite stormy in my head. There is chaos and a total lack of organisation. It makes sticking to any one thing no less than a challenge. I sometimes fish out random bits and pieces from that outrageous mess and try to give them words. Boy, that is erratic!

life, Poems, poetry

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