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| Sword of Damocles, Richard Westall via Wikimedia Commons |
As a child, I fell often, wounding myself.
It would bleed red, I would scream in pain,
The world around cared, rushed to aid.
Mom would tell me time heals all wounds.
As a youth, I fell, not that often, but less.
It would bleed deep within, I cried in vain,
World largely unheard, Bit of care, little aid.
Love had taught me time wounds all heals.
As an adult, I fell, but I had learnt to raise.
It would bleed? I neither screamed nor cried,
Neither did I care for the world nor its aid.
Life reasoned what time doesn't heal, it numbs.
As an old man, I know I will fall, inevitable fate.
Unexempt, bleed they all - body, heart, mind, soul.
The world, its care and aid - sins of mortal mind!
What time can't numb, it hangs over Damocles!?
