Combat Healer

A cycle of poems «Anamnesis morbi»

In the midst of chaos, where battles rage,
There's a healer standing, amidst the sage.
With hands that mend and words that soothe,
Combat healer, a beacon of truth.

Combat healer, mending the torn,
Saving lives in the night's darkest morn.
With every touch, they bring respite,
A lifeline amidst the endless fight.

Through smoke and fire, they tend the wounded,
Their skills unmatched, their hearts unyielding.
Bandages tight, sutures in place,
Giving hope in the darkest of space.

Amidst the fallen, they offer aid,
Whispering words that calm the fray.
A gentle touch, a soothing tone,
Guiding lost souls back to their own.

Their resilience unwavering, their spirits strong,
They face each day, knowing the risks they throng.
For in their hearts, a purpose burns,
To heal and mend, until no one mourns.

Combat healer, mending the torn,
Saving lives in the night's darkest morn.
With every touch, they bring respite,
A lifeline amidst the endless fight.

When battles cease and peace prevails,
The combat healer's role never fails.
Their scars a testament to the pain they've seen,
Their memories a testament to the lives they've redeemed.