THE WALKING WOUNDED

Have you ever seen a walking wounded?
Would you know one if you did?
Some are in disguise with smiles on their face,
While others spill their blood all over the place.

They live in your families and sit in your living room,
Worst of all, you may have caused the wound.
Some received their wounds in childhood,
others, so many, to stand, they barely could.

Some were wounded in the war,
But not by bullets were they hurt,
They watched their fellow soldiers die,
While helplessly bleeding, they did lie.

A wife wounded by abuse, she knew no escape,
The wounds just got deeper, her anguish agape.
She may have loss a child somewhere along the way,
Or lives in dire poverty but is too proud to say.

Children wounded in their schools, but not by guns;
By their fellow students by whom they were shunned.
Physical or sexual abuse, they bare, and they hide,
They walk this path wounded, bleeding inside.

Be kind, my friend, for you know not who they are,
I have met so many, that I know they’re everywhere.
Their cruel remarks, their angry words, to you are so unfair,
Don’t return to them the same but show them that you care.

They lash out sometimes, their blood oozing as they do,
Too much pain to be contained, they spill all over you.
We can’t walk in another’s skin, no matter how we sympathize,
But we can dig the wound more deeply when we fail to empathize.

I am a walking wounded, I’ll bet that you are, too,
We rank in the numbers too numerous to count,
If you find someone who’s not one,
I would ask for a recount.