Of this world so darkened by evils, evils that taint and tarnesh all the good in it's path..
Love bares a soul that only our creator can claim, hands that heal the wounded and a heart that breaks by day.
Hidden souls that crawl from the cracks left behind to wait for the coiled serpant like powerless pray.
They walk amongst us in a field left open , to be struck by the venome as they lay hopeless and face their death ,.
The Wounded Healer kneels beside them with hands to lay, ******* the poison, giving them purity to rinse their veins.
The Wounded Healer now weakened by the goodness of thyne heart but expects nothing in return
Now her age upon her, taken over the beast of I'll, not one soul of the once wounded stands before her to show they love her, as she asks of nothing more before she goes.
Is this what I see and feel before me to be A Wounded Healer yet die with painful sadness as I lay here all alone .
Tis true to never expect the good you rein upon God's children to rein on you in return. Keeping your heart good and love without regret for This is the Only honest love that of a wounded Healer is certain they will get
Healing of anything is self serving in itself
