By: KD Smith

Some wounds defy healing,
too deep to reach
without hurting innocent tissue.
Some wounds wait, assumed to be healed,
boiling in infection, poised to erupt.
One sharp jab, an unexpected blow,
and poison follows channels,
corrupting all it touches,
jangling nerves and rattling what was set,
upending the hard won calm.
The search for peace begins, the deep breathing, the repeated mantras.
Until the poison ebbs, the flow ceases, and the wound retreats,
waiting to be disturbed again.