A wound on the limb, a mere scratch on the soul, A moment in time that makes us feel whole.
But it's not the tales, not the scars on display, It's the weight we bear, the torment that won't sway.
Society's stories, a tangled web weaved, Of scars and heartache, of all we've received. Yet what endures, what truly remains, Is the wound within us, the ache in our veins.
In darkness we search, for solace and peace, A balm to the hurt that begs for release. As we yearn for the light, our hearts start to mend, For hope is the fire that burns without end.
So let not our wounds define who we are, We're warriors of life, and we've come this far.
Through battles and storms, our spirits hold fast, The pain may endure, but we'll outlast.