The Origins Of Hurt Poem by Peter Strugnell

He would return to Eastern lands,
where the earth burns your feet,
washed his hands or so it seems,
no promises made, none to keep.

And so it came to be so long ago,
a woman with a child in her eyes,
and a man who didn't want to know,
he said he'd leave, he didn't lie.

It was a hurt that should have healed,
it all should have been left behind,
she kept the scar so well concealed,
but it would never fade with time.

She would have her baby to hold,
to keep her from being all alone,
her winters would never be cold,
it was her very own flesh & bone.

Some things just can't be replaced,
and life, it's course does run,
love can leave a bitter aftertaste,
but in truth, we should possess no-one.