A Flesh Wound

Flashing metal strikes the stone
It chips – scratches. A flesh wound only,
The slightest mar: visible to the eye.
Inside the stone, the blow rebounds,
A shockwave. It runs through the stone
Like panic. Pushing and tugging at particles,
Forcing them apart and leaving behind
The tiniest fractures, completely unseen.
Dozens of miniscule wounds hidden
From stranger and friend alike. Unshared,
But dealt with. The parts stand together
To compensate for the fissures. Because
The stone must continue to stand.
It must continue to hold, to bear the load
Though each successive blow shatters more
And more of its interior strength. Stubbornly,
It clings to its shards until the final blow
Forces them apart for the world to see.


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