Shrapnel

Embedded like shrapnel
From explosions in forgotten wars
These old wounds lie deep,
Reluctant to be awakened.

But the soul has its own itinerary;
it will not hold still
And with the whole heat of the heart
The flesh seethes, pressing and pushing

Against those sharp, alien fragments,
Goading them to the surface
Cracking through ancient scars
Each jagged piece of slag howls its way out.

As we stretch toward metamorphosis.
Each fragment carries with it
All the fear and pain of impact.
Tears are the solvent —
The only way out is through, and through and up.