Beneath the skin, a story blooms,
In hues of twilight's deep perfumes,
A silent echo, tender mark,
A midnight sky with hidden sparks.
Where blood meets bone in whispered woe,
A palette of the pain does show,
With shades of purple, blue, and black,
A transient map of impact's track.
A tender swell, a quiet ache,
The body's song of strong heartache,
A testament to moments past,
To fleeting woes that do not last.
Yet in the pain, a strength does rise,
In every tear, a truth belies,
For bruises fade and hearts repair,
In healing's light, we're taught to care.
So, in the colors of the bruise,
A lesson gentle, we must choose,
To honor what the shadows say,
And find the light of each new day.
