Keepsake (Poetry)

You’re the wound in my side
that never quite heals
and at this time of year
it festers and feels
as fresh as it did
on that long-ago day
when you sliced through my life
then just went on your way

The pain’s always there
while nerves play a tune
discordant as grief
that wails to the moon
and winter’s the time
it raises its note
to the thin stifled scream
still trapped in my throat

And sometimes it throbs
so hollow and deep
it cannot be calmed
and banishes sleep
like a keepsake of love
that can’t be denied
you’re the hurt that won’t mend
and the ache I can’t hide

For it never quite heals
this wound in my side