Trauma Surgeon

A cycle of poems «Traumatology»

In crimson depths, where wounds divide,
I stand as healer, trauma's guide.
With steady hands and heart unbowed,
I mend the broken, turn cries to loud.

I am the surgeon, the night's embrace,
Trauma's architect, with healing grace.
From chaos' grip, I bring respite,
A beacon of hope in darkness' blight.

The knife, my scalpel, swift and true,
Through flesh and bone, a path I pursue.
Blood flows free, a crimson tide,
As I dissect, I strive to hide.

Each case a battle, fiercely fought,
Against the clock, where time is bought.
From shattered bodies, torn apart,
I weave a lifeline, with every start.

I am the surgeon, the night's embrace,
Trauma's architect, with healing grace.
From chaos' grip, I bring respite,
A beacon of hope in darkness' blight.

The weight of lives, it burdens heavy,
But in their eyes, I find my levy.
Their shattered bodies, my sacred trust,
To heal, to mend, with utmost gust.

Beneath the shadow of the night,
In hospital halls, where pain takes flight,
I am the surgeon, forever bound,
To fight life's battles, never to wound.

I am the surgeon, the night's embrace,
Trauma's architect, with healing grace.
From chaos' grip, I bring respite,
A beacon of hope in darkness' blight.

In wounds that bleed and hearts that yearn,
I find my purpose, my soul's return.
A trauma surgeon, with heart and Might,
Guiding lives from broken night.