Amputation

A cycle of poems «Traumatology»

In the cold, sterile light of the hospital room,
A decision that shattered my world to doom.
The surgeon's words, a cruel and bitter blow,
'Your limb must be removed, I'm sorry to know.'

Amputation, a cruel fate,
Taking a part of me, I cannot recreate.
A void that remains, a constant ache,
A phantom limb that I can never forsake.

Once so strong and agile, now I feel weak,
My confidence shattered, my self-esteem bleak.
Simple tasks become arduous, each step a trial,
The weight of my loss, an unbearable pile.

Amputation, a cruel fate,
Taking a part of me, I cannot recreate.
A void that remains, a constant ache,
A phantom limb that I can never forsake.

They say time heals all wounds, but I doubt,
The pain of amputation will always be about.
A constant reminder of what was torn away,
Leaving me with an emptiness that no words can convey.

Through valleys of despair, I wander alone,
Searching for solace, but finding only a stone.
The stares of the curious, the pity in their eyes,
Fueling the fire of my anguish, piercing my disguise.

Amputation, a cruel fate,
Taking a part of me, I cannot recreate.
A void that remains, a constant ache,
A phantom limb that I can never forsake.

Yet amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,
A newfound strength, a spirit taking flight.
I will not be defined by my loss,
But by the courage I find within my cross.

Though my limb is gone, my soul remains,
A testament to the resilience of the human frame.
Amputation may have taken a part,
But it cannot extinguish the flame within my heart.