Scratched Gold
A sad drop of water from the olive leaf falls like a season gone.
Tears are the only hope my body holds.
Deep down, I feel my healed injuries reopen,
Yet solemnly, I need no repair.
I wish they could hurt more.
I wish those words would pierce deeper,
for only pain has turned my world
into scratched gold.
These walls of pain have raised great men and women.
The strongest hearts know the piercing sword trained in pain and blood.
Loaf and wine once fed me like family,
but these walls fed me sour wine for dinner.
I have sat and cried,
wishing these wounds would hurt more.
I pray this pain would last longer.
I pray this pain would become a part of me.