When Old Wounds Bleeds
It comes unbidden like an avalanche
invoked by old familiar odors
touching your skin like eels travelling through the spine

When old wounds bleeds
The lips wants to excuse the soul with new songs
too feeble an anchor to keep sanity
The heart strives to keep the tombstone unrolled
but the chronicles
reads itself into the wells of your eyes that runs over

Echoes reverberates, noiselessly
as a sunken treasure-ship hits the ocean floor
The exclamations of passion,
Father's words slips out through the fissures of his grave-
his sinewy hands outstretched offering the oil lamp of the wise
Old acquaintances come to play
as flies, the sores on Lazarus
when old wounds bleed

The azure wears a widow's mourning wrapper
The melodies of skylarks falls upon the ears
like the cry of black ravens upon plains where
fallen sons lay asleep from the kisses of poisoned arrows
beyond the recognition of their mothers

When old wounds bleeds
violins replace the djembe
The red moon is sighted at noon
The duckling quacks upon a dead eagle
Icy grows the motherly feel of the furnace heat
The cassock is shredded to receive shots of whiskey

When old wounds bleeds
you seek the poetry that tells your story
with the Maara river that taste as bitter as your tears
The music that embraces,
stitching you with notes and binding you to a whole with chords
And you stand naked telling the tales of your scars the world believes are tattoos
Its hard to trust light when old wounds bleeds

When old wounds bleeds -
the physician is scarcely near
but the stray dog, an alley cat,
the boring friend with the mantle of the healer that guides your hands to heal yourself.

- Martins Deep

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