The Signature of Pain

When you cut your hand

The blood oozes from the scar,

That will heal over time.

When you lose a limb,

The love of those around you,

Their compassion, tries to fill the void.

It can’t, for certain, but they try.

When you cause a death,

The embrace you feel will squeeze

Out some of the sorrow.

Not all, but it helps.

A scar, a loss, a great sadness

Seen, felt, sensed, touched through compassion.

These pains are static, they don’t grow.

They don’t change, they are similar.

When your brain is scarred, or damaged,

Or weakened, you can’t put a finger

On what is wrong, or what to do. The brain

is ever changing, ever evolving, ever adjusting.

No one knows what may happen,

What to expect, except the unexpected.

No fanfare, no touch, or kiss,

Or feeling – all gone, as if never there.

We stand alone, apart,

Never even relating amongst ourselves.

We have the same labels,

But no similarities.

Suffering alone, expect nothing

Until the insulation thickens,

And we are frozen in the quagmire

Of unsolved pain and entrapment.

Then we sign our pain,

Alone, forever, alone.

No where to go, no where to look,

No one to ask, no place to seek

Salve your cuts, soothe your loss,

Comfort your mourn.

We sign our pain, it makes perfect sense,

The only we know … bang …