Beneath the surface of our fragile skin,
A breach occurs where pain might soon begin.
A wound, a tale of life and fleeting strife,
A mark of trials etched upon our life.
From jagged tears to cuts so sharp and clean,
Each wound unveils the chaos unforeseen.
A scrape, a puncture, bleeding, swelling red,
A signal life’s thin veil has softly bled.
Acute and swift, some heal as time allows,
While others linger, testing solemn vows.
The chronic ones, defying time’s embrace,
Demand a fight, a patient, measured pace.
Abrasions mark the skin with fleeting scars,
Lacerations bear the sting of life’s harsh jars.
Punctures pierce the depths with quiet might,
While avulsions tear with a brutal plight.
Bruises bloom like violets on the skin,
Hematomas hide their battle within.
From surface wounds to those that delve so deep,
Each tells a tale of flesh that will not sleep.
The healing starts with hemostatic grace,
A clotting tide that halts the bleeding race.
Then flames arise, inflammation’s call,
To cleanse, to clear, to mend what dared to fall.
Proliferation follows, crafting new,
Tissue and vessels bathed in life’s bright hue.
At last, remodeling begins to shine,
A scar, a story written line by line.
Oh wounds, you are both bane and bittersweet,
For in your pain, resilience we meet.
A testament to how the body strives,
To mend, to heal, to keep its host alive.
