An ancient wound, ill-healed and raw,
At lightest touch, it bleeds anew,
A scar that cannot seem to gnaw.
Anxious hands, for seasons long, draw
Its suture, though their toil seems vain,
An ancient wound, ill-healed and raw.
Each tender caress leaves it more raw,
Renewing anguish, endless pain,
A scar that cannot seem to gnaw.
Through sleepless nights, it aches and fawns,
A constant torment, a constant stain,
An ancient wound, ill-healed and raw.
Though scars may fade, its memory dawns,
Whispering loss, forever to remain,
A scar that cannot seem to gnaw.
The wound still bleeds, an endless pawn,
A testament to love’s tragic reign,
An ancient wound, ill-healed and raw,
A scar that cannot seem to gnaw.