Saturday, April 23, 2016

The Gash

Blood's pouring from my hand,
Well, 'pouring's not quite right,
The cut is so, that what will come will come,
Like rainfall in a blight,

It quickly seeps into the dry, bare earth,
Like it was never there,
Except for those few minutes when it's dark,
Here red, around the jagged, whitish tear.

I could clean it now, and bandage it up,
Pretend it never was,
But what of the act that led to this wound?
That should never be lost,
That will e'er be,
A lesson from the past,
So that I can weigh the consequences,
Should the act's rewards supersede the gash.

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