Amputating the Old – Poem

One day, it was so very simple,
A little nick was all it was,
It barely touched the surface,
A fleeting glance.
There was no blood drawn.
Over time, its roots grew deeper,
Scabbing and crusting over and over,
Becoming engrained and permanent,
A familiar scar.
It was built now to last.
Only rarely can it happen,
Such an accidental contact,
Has such an impact on your health,
A friend’s smile.
What was it like before the mark?
Once in a million, is healing,
All it takes is one little bug,
To gnaw and attack, wear it all away,
A fiendish turn.
Now the wound’s open once more.
Opening wide, the bacteria reproduce,
Serving themselves and eating their surroundings,
And the smell is pungent,
A festering time.
It’s all turned sour. There’s one path ahead.
Owing nothing to modern man,
Medicines and salves are no cure,
There’s only one solution, away from all this pain,
A fiery pain.
The festering, rotting, once-loved scar,
Needs amputating before it spreads.

© 29th December 2011

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