Bruised

A sharpened edge that once cut deep,
Worn smooth by time’s relentless march
Yet in its blunted surface keeps
The power still to leave a mark.
A dull, persistent, throbbing ache,
It wanes but never truly fades
Its presence a reminder of
What fear allowed to slip away.
The wound will never fade without
The will to let time do its work
Yet I, in my reluctance shape
A self-inflicted scar.