The leg is gone, but still it stays, In ghostly form, in unseen ways. A whisper felt where none should be, A phantom limb, an agony.
It itches, burns, and tingles bright, In shadows of the vanished light. Where once was flesh, there's now but air, Yet still the nerves scream unaware.
The brain recalls the touch, the feel, Of every step once firm, once real. But now it’s lost, the body's whole, Yet fractured deep within the soul.
An empty space where echoes tread, In nights of quiet, waking dread. The limb that’s gone is never far, It haunts the mind like some old scar.
Yet hope exists, a path, a way, To ease the pain, to calm the fray. Through mirrors, meds, and gentle care, The mind may learn that it’s not there.
But still, the ghost remains inside, A silent ache we cannot hide. A phantom limb, a story spun, Of loss, yet battles never won.
And though the leg may never mend, The spirit fights, the will won’t bend. For in this pain, there’s strength untold, A journey made, a heart grown bold.
