wounded healer

in discomfort, his solemn soul,

grandiose spirit in this callous realm,

four healed in a casual stroll,

flooding with his altruistic helm;

his abundance on self,

filled above the vessel’s brim,

spilled out in which we dwell,

quenches other’s thirsts in a whim;

deepest depths of his heart immerse,

fathoming the untouched surface,

a blessing or is it a curse?

former, as he is the divine’s face;

by whom will he be healed?

or no cure for his tragic wounds?

as where the poison yield,

to him the tonic he founds;

stumbling through hell, dragging none,

to provide others with profound ticket,

sun, he is, for the sun,

even shines on the wicked.