“Wounds That Mend”

Wounds may whisper in the night,
With silent screams and faded light,
A scarred reminder on the skin—
Of where the pain and hope begin.

The flesh may break, the spirit bend,
Yet time and tenderness will tend.
For every cut that stung the soul,
There waits a hand to make it whole.

The ache may linger, slow to fade,
Through shadowed paths our hearts have strayed.
But even wounds that bleed so deep
Can bloom again from where we weep.

Stitches made of love and grace
Trace the lines we dare to face.
What once was raw, now starts to feel
The gentle pulse of time that heals.

Not all wounds close without a trace,
But healing wears a wiser face.
For every scar that life imparts
Becomes a map of braver hearts.