Triage

It must be cauterized, this injured heart,
Its edges seared to cease the slipping soul
From spilling out, char every aching part
With unforgiving flames, use burning coal,

Use red-white fire, use billows fanned from pits
Of blacksmiths blind and deaf to the soft pleas
Beseeching amnesty, reprieve from fits
Of rage, from bouts of doubt, scorch this disease,

This pain infested heart, with Hell’s high flames
Ablaze with wicked light, this man condemned
To never feel again, to seal his shames
Within his cracked tomb, the blood now stemmed,

Shored up behind these blackened arteries
Of which sweet numbness will soon softly seize