Robert E Rasmussen.com

When I listen to my soul and let it speak for itself,

I realize I have been wounded.

Hurt.

My confidence in myself has sustained injury.

A bruise remains.

Then I hear in my mind a melody from my boyhood,

often sung, seldom pondered,

but now of comfort.

So I nudge near to the one in the song —

the one with the wounded, bleeding side,

where my wound is in excellent company.