Though long healed now the scars remain, 
white bloodless skin stretched tight across 
a spot where, nerve endings lost, 
we feel, by feeling less, no pain, 
or less at least than when our hearts 
and minds, not yet inured to 
suffering by neglect, felt hurt 
cut deep, the thrill of pain still new 
to us. Cicatrix, the wound 
of love we bear and cauterise 
and move on if only to find, 
even now, the ghost of that first kiss, 
first touch, will not be exorcised 
but haunts us with a pain we miss. 

In the Land of Grey and Pink * ►


Tony Hill

Sat 3rd Oct 2020 21:55

Hi Ray, it‘s been a while. Hope you and yours are keeping well during these dark times. I‘ll post a few poems then disappear again. The next poem I Post came about as a result of this bloody virus, though it may not be immediately apparent. Tony

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Sat 3rd Oct 2020 20:07

Very special persuasive writing and an inner journey to share. Are you the Tony with whom I shared comments some years back? If so this is a rare treat. I am hanging in here hoping for an infusion of fine material.

All the best to you. Ray

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