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

 

 

This poem is a creation inspired by the prompt “The wounds became wildflowers,” introduced by @sol_poetria and @wordsbyjabbrin on Instagram.