Shrapnel

Lodged once then
Covered over with skin
The ends of it
Touch beyond its own
Painful end.
Her ears still ringing.

Healing, then one
wrong move, twisted
Away from the one who
Did it, round again
Explosions echo past
time in her ears

Thus, little slice
Thin metal, tiny splinter
feels not death, but life
Pain means life
Moving toward the day
You promised, then:

You bend the with
Remover, to remove
Kind God, or angels above
Beating down your
Pain played out again.
Begging for its end.

Time's not a line.
Healing's not an end
Pointed toward Heaven
Sometimes fists toward God
screaming to the sky in wretched
Hope for love forgotten.