Cut
Skin, though as taut as rawhide, and as strong,
Still splits under a jagged, cruel knife,
Opens its jaws to scream a gout of life
As blood that would atone and end the wrong—
But wounds, no matter what the cause or source,
Cannot withhold their sorrows or their rage;
Injustice must be shouted off the stage,
So bleed they without pity or remorse—
Break, then, both skin and soul, and sear the heart
Of any who is cognizant of pain;
Who cries for justice and can’t sleep again
‘Til order is restored as at the start—
What’s done cannot be undone should a scar
Reveal the fragile creatures that we are.
Art-Colored Glasses 
Good one…..have a lovely weekend. Janet. xx
Sometimes I think I’m too frivolous and too soft when it comes to facing reality, so I try to give everyday suffering its due, mostly as a sort of prophylactic measure. 😉 xoxo
K
I hope the squeamish don’t lose it while reading! Haha!
Better yet, I hope nobody has any particular reason to find it too familiar! 😀
xo
Wow. Gory poetry 😛
Spoken like a true surgeon! 😀
xo
Love this Kathryn. We are as frail as we are resiliant I think! 😊 x
Well said, Christine! 🙂
❤
K