Today’s Wounds

Even as newborns
we are defeated
by our very own nerves
and greeted into this
as fresh infants
awaiting life’s little razors
to soften the cradle.

We are defeated
in a thousand moments
and a thousand brief cuts,
and out of this
we become hard.

The skin stiffens with scars
until the marks are the surface
that takes the next
blow of the chisel’s tip.

We are not the sculptor
or the guard that watches our torture,
yet somehow we still rise
each morning out of the bed.

For each
there is a cloud that looms,
for each
there is the knowledge and truth
that each cut is less deep
because of today’s wounds.

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