In the quiet of the mind, a storm may brew, An impact unseen, yet felt through and through. A fall, a strike, or a violent descent, A force so fierce, a life fragment sent.
From mild confusion to darkness' embrace, The symptoms appear, in varied, strange trace. A headache that lingers, a dizzying spell, Light sears like fire, casting shadows as well.
Mild forms may pass, like clouds on the sea, With rest and time, the mind can break free. But moderate to severe carries more weight, Where seizures and speech may falter in state.
A stumble in thought, a tremor in hand, Coordination lost, like fine grains of sand. Confusion a fog that thickens, then clears, While others are left in coma’s deep spheres.
A bruise on the brain, a twist of the thread, Diffuse injury spreads, silent and red. Some by piercing find thought ripped away, With skull breached open, life forced to sway.
Doctors peer close with machines to reveal The damage once hidden, now made real. In pictures they study, in tests they seek A path to mend the fractured and weak.
Recovery’s road is a winding, rough lane, Some find their strength, some feel the strain. And so through this battle, unseen yet profound, Life rebuilds softly, in silence and sound.
