Blossoming

I am blossoming,

from the wound, I once bled.

Blossoming graciously to the light the sun showers,

and to the light the moon projects.

Meeting the entrance to this wound that wears a smile,

that grows bigger with time.

They say time is a healer,

as this wound blossoms,

hiding every trace of redness,

every trace of sadness.

Dancing to the winsome rhythm of life.

Leaving decorative art,

a mark of a survivor.

Yet still, it blossoms echoing loudly,

echoing the strength, it holds.

I am blossoming,

from the wound, I once bled.

 

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