Wounds whisper soft apologies,
scar-tissue blooms like moss on stone,
light slips through the cracks we keep,
and mends what once was overthrown.
Breathe slow, the ache unwinds,
like rivers finding shore—
tomorrow’s not a promise,
just a door left half ajar.
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Author:
ROSHI (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 18th, 2026 17:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments1
Haunting and moving one thing that poetry can do and should do. A lovely write and a fave
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