Wounds

some wounds
they bleed
like pearly sap
from tender wood,
drying out,
hardened
over time;
leaving scars
that blend into
the knotted bark
of a nubile tree,
looking out
to the blue sun.

some wounds
are not
stick-it notes
ready
to be peeled off
at will;
some wounds
they stick
like leeches
to warm skin,
drawing out
dark gold
from within;

some wounds
are holes
that thread us
with a remembrance
of a shared moment
of being fragile
and
utterly human.

some wounds
still smart,
sanded by time
or an earnest
forgetting,
for they
are branded
not on an
unforgiving soul,
but etched
on the soul
of our shared
humanity.