A wound not always seen
Or thought of seriously
Multitudes of colors for a clot
Red at the first pain,
Blue for the fresh,
And violet when it stains,
Green when it begins to die,
And yellow as it fades

Mine has started to ache
The blow was harsh
But the tears have passed away
I wish it were bruise
That I could ice and care for gently
But the pain runs deep
Not in the body but in my spirit
It took a beating the other day
It's been weary anyway

An assortment of colors I'll be
A box of crayons for anyone who looks deep
Perhaps instead of the ache,
I'll draw and paint
Make use of my colors
And find a blank page.