The Wounds Become Wildflowers

Bruises bloom across my soul

wild taking hold—

mercilessly,

in every hidden facet

life so flawlessly

masquerades as lifelong gifts.

Time drifts on

through joy and pain,

still the bruises flower

under the silver rain

painting dazzling colors

across the ache.

Until one day

the wounds become wildflowers

deep-rooted, and petals brave

each scar a memory

lifted, scattered, danced away

on the sanctifying wind.

©2026, Vasiliki Papadopoulou