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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Written: March 28, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It is a myth that time cures any wound, It is merely what people say and sound. When the wound was simply skin-wide, No reply may occur due to decay sighed. Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live. Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. Feeling numb and wounded, sighs escape. My heart churns—overwhelmed by a scrape. Pebbles embed in my brain cortex. Amorphous swirls provide a raw vortex. Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live. Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. Assessing a child's stomach on baking day, Those smitten by love share anguish and decay. Fail to express love or even heart grief. Charmed in a state of anguish and relief. Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live. Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. I perceive kismet as a formidable antagonist, One could not despise his rival or protagonist. That amazes everyone—upon slaughtering me, Who slain me, or who carried out such butchery? Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live, Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. Let's devote the night to the wounded. Their bodies are battered—rise to be subtruded. Whispered to no one, cleanse of their scars. Wounded sigh in killer room as dusk dew parse. Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live. Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. Those who have been wounded by his arrow, Those who were scathe sob in love, thrill shadow. Wriggle on the rug with love and reverence. Heal wounds themselves, hurting its severance. Oh, suffering of not being able to die or live. Such a wounded sigh to endure and strive. Head over to celebrate with them tonight. Love may seem corrupted—they cry fake sight. If they shed fake tears—their love isn't divine. Believers never act wildly or display mood signs.
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