In the tumult of rays and shadows, I was born and grew

In the tumult of rays and shadows, I was born and grew, Upon the altar of existence, self-sacrifices I laid to burn, to sanctify the past, "But how do you soothe this fragrance of pain?" with wide-open eyes they asked, And the answer flowed, a river of healing beneath stars curiously scrutinized. "Not all that hurts must be stirred, nor all wounds constantly prodded, Let them bleed, in their seemingly dormant sleep, in crypts of oblivion to lie," So taught me time, the healer of falling moons, The cut remains, a mark small as it may be, a memory that won't fade, A fragile chronicle chanted in spells of scattered survivals. And she has built in silence, a monument of peace on steep ascents, "To bleed inward, a lesson to be written in letters of fire and water, For unhealed, wounds cause us to mar innocent hearts, Those who did not harm us, on them we will impose unsummoned tears." Thus, words lay like leaves in the forest slumbering with dreams, Each rustle a mystery, each branch an advice for adrift souls, To let bruises fade away, instead of incessantly carving them, misunderstood, He who learns to bleed no more, in the end, learns also to love. Like a spider's web catching the morning dew in magical weaves, Life weaves stories upon my skin, leaves marks in the fabric of time that lives me, For some parts of us must be laid in ash to be reborn wholly, Forever admonishing that healing is a sacred fire, an art of nature, reverent, daily.