Bruises dark and raw,
The only thing that’s wrong
With this world, the earth,
The only thing I feel is worth
A tear or two on a silent night.
This blue, black, red on white.
But slowly and subtly,
The lampshade shifts, hovering.
That expensive soft light
Has no return price.
No convincing myself can change
The way the world is arranged.
The bruises fade away
And nothing’s quite the same.
It is bright, and it is dark
When the bruises lose their mark,
Nothing in the middle,
Everything once large now little.
And in the end, nothing lasts,
The past just stays the past.
And bleeding is the least painful
Part of war, the most faithful.
And falling is just part of tree limbs.
And bruises are just color on skin.