Perennial Hearts

By Ryan Mimna

Time heals all wounds.

But it heals in its own way.

What is to be said about unspoken thoughts?

Time heals all wounds. That is what they say.

Is it cruel?

Like a broken foot healing in a forest.

Or is it thoughtful?

Like a broken foot healing with the love and tender care of a hospital.

All wounds heal; life often does not.

What is there to be said of beauty in such a tragic thought?

What can we say of time, our minds, a sweet drink of wine?

Bottled memories.

Thoughts often feel fine.

Some things are better with time, indeed. A tired phrase, like wine.

Time can make the heart cold, even to a warm spring breeze.

What do I say of a forlorn heart?

Am I speaking of my own heart?

Time heals all wounds, after all.

From the soul does it start?

I say today what I said yesterday, imagining today:

Wounds are wounds.

Hearts are hearts.

That was yesterday.

My thoughts today.

Time marches on.

Beautiful are hearts.

Time heals all wounds.

Sometimes cruelly.

Hope is in my heart.

That is enough.

My perennial thought.

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Ryan Mimna lives in Philadelphia and works in the finance industry. He served in the U.S. Army from 2011 to 2015 and, after completing the Ranger pipeline, served with 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, including multiple tours in Afghanistan. After leaving the Army, he finished a bachelor’s degree in political science at the University of Pennsylvania, where he began writing and later turned toward poetry. For The Havok Journal, he writes reflective pieces and poetry, often centered on fear, meaning, and the inner life.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.