Wounded

It feels like all our lives we’ve been searching

Always trying to find something

Like there was a part of us incomplete

A deep wound we couldn’t treat,

At least not on our own.

That ache in our marrow, deep in the bone

The wanderlust that we cannot shake

No matter what title we achieve, how much money we make.

This hole can’t be filled with material possessions

Shallow relationships, scuba lessons.

It can only be filled by love and good deeds,

Love given without any heed

To reciprocation or personal benefit.

Only then will the darkness be lit

And the emptiness filled with peace.

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