Poetry

How can you unsee an etched wound? 
The name will tell the moon. 
An empty sky now calls for 
the rains. 
 
What was it- 
the ceremonial farewell? 
A dependable pain now starts 
pulling out the sharpnels from the body. 
 
You may call it 
meaningless. My poem now 
moves between the stings. Somebody 
was going for a merciless kill.