Wound
168 creative works found
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Third part of the Wind-up Robots.. Had fun with this, it was like a little metaphor for breaking free into a new path for me.. Hope you enjoy!! Photoshop, Carboard and Spraypaint..
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A U.S. soldier shows off a scar from the surgery required to remove multiple pieces of ammunition shrapnel sustained when his squad came under direct enemy fire while on patrol in Mosul, Iraq. As of October 2007 over 27,000 U.S. military personnel have been wounded in Iraq since the beginning of the war in March of 2003.
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I am more / than the sum of these wounds, / though they threaten to engulf me. / Yet sometimes, the wounds seem greater than I, / and they drag me back into / the raw and ragged edges of memory, / where pain casts a dark shadow beside me. / Within me the hands of fate have carved / a well so deep that at times there seems / NO way out, / and I claw the walls with bleeding hands and cry for release. Is this all I am? / Is this the meaning to my existence? / Is this what I came here for? Deep within I hear the whisper that tells me to look, / there IS more. / This self same well that struggles to contain my sorrow and incubate my fears, is the same vessel that would hold all my love, / even all the love of this world, / and emanate an effervescent light of joy from its depths. / Yet I pass through it without realizing I have been a prisoner / of my own choosing. How doggedly we hollow out this well, and fill ourselves with what we know, or think we do, / how blindly we allow it to define who we are, / and sound out the rhythm of our being…. / but as deep as the pain cuts darkly, / and the wound gouges out a hollow so black, / so much deeper is that place within that might burst with love and joy, an empty space resounding with potential / and the promise of healing and truth. / IF only we could realize we are more, / than that which we let overwhelm us. I was walking through the forest and saw a red glow ahead of me in the shadows….. there was a bright red circle on a fallen tree and it drew me to it. I could not believe how bright this red wound was, on this tree, a gaping, raw, bloody hole, and it made me weep inside for all living things. This is the sight, the image, that made me think more about my own woundedness, and perhaps the wounds that we all carry and too often lose ourselves in. /
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Following on from Envy is ‘Wrath the Sin’ in the Sin series. Medium: Indian ink and gray wash.
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Not the friendliest beast in the bestiary! Somewhat wounded too…I think he needs some ‘alone’ time just now. He is big and took ages – 30×40cm, watercolour, chalk pastel, ink, conte, iridescent pigments (on the feather tips) and copper leaf splatters, on canvas.
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Hiding, ashamed… / Ripping, / Pulling, / Digging…at my scars. Embeded in my skin, / Like a dirty sidewalk… / Only to be walked on. Removed, forever… / Never seen, / Only then will I be happy… / With my scar tissue. another self port / No manip here. Scars are all mine. How…just lucky I guess? Used PS to bring out the textures.
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/ see buyers booth pic here
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The guy who put his hands on you has got nothing to do with me. And the bruises that you feel will heal and I hope you’ll come around because I miss you. And we used to speak so easy, but now you’re afraid to talk to me. It’s like walking with the wounded. You carry that weight way too far and the concrete pulls you down so hard. Well I never claimed to understand what happens after dark. But my fingers catch sparks at the thought of touching you. Let me break it down until I force the issue. I miss your face and you know I wish you would come back down the the Dalva Bar. I want to kiss you and knock ‘em down like we used to. You’re an angel in the pit with his hands in the air and i miss you. You say you don’t know. You say you can’t grow. All I know is that i miss you. Just show up wounded
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Battle Wounds
by Kristy LeeI’ll bite a hole / in my lip, wince, / and gasp back tears
Just a poem about release..about pain..and about strength.
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Design by Virgi
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Kanji: Wounded / Injury / This design: / / annoyed me for the last time today. / Everytime i saw it, something about it would be jumping up and down at me, raising its fists. So I thought today, after all this time, I’d listen to what it said….... / / .....I don’t know either ;)
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Teddy in hospital
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Acrylics & oil pastel on canvas This painting is the inspiration for a poem by CC Arshagra. I am honored. “PAIN’S MIGHT … Oh The Tender Soul Of It All” The wound is, and life lands / To lose youth to pain’s age / Tomorrows came to cover you / And the hemorrhaging of it all To mind days of love’s endless battle with will / The treatments and drugs and the scalpels’ tear sealed / Whilst lo, your guard of love protected receiving / The subject of: You are an object to save The study and practice of treating the unknown / The science of mystery fed by narcotics / An oath of God-nature with a license to heal / Controlled by the most faithful desperate pleas pricing Oh how—God would teach you—the long ends of pain / How love’s guilt could rear up your sins living end / The will of your love for life grew ever-strong / Till here alone your plight withstood the fell time The wound is, and living life lands / To win wars of pain and rest not: more the same / To conquer controlling your dividing mind vice / To be love and be all wars’ opposites vying Then lo, time’s technology beat what is mortal / The heart was not going to kill you—The mother / What pain now knew so did your fight to recover / And Death’s loss was measured by what war was won? Then the day comes to know you cannot survive death / You cannot defeat life, love, or your soul’s self / There is no war questioning how your soul forms / Long—you are still here, (lost?) fighting with pain So you lay down your arms and say ‘Let the storms come,’ / And lo, what you always have known as defeat / Was a storm’s profound calm, and immeasurable peace / Your fight to fix life broken—fell to its knees To undergo living life here—sow to grow / You gave your fists hands to touch Death’s not alone / And you unfurled your wings here to span the whole globe / But were rained on by stones you have thrown Now all that pain taught you was still close at hand / You have only to move your mind’s wrathful command / And crush all things mortal with suffering’s might / And price your pride is wrong and paid by you’re right How pain has (constantly) taught you so well / But who lives within one sane heavenly hell? / If nothing is just the beginning of life / And death is a gift earned by one’s honest path Yet in pain’s domain—all wars cannot be one / For pain less its life, fears your own wholeness shared / Pain can not grasp not protecting its face / Its purpose is to trust no one but itself A dichotomy of answers held hands stretched apart / And mind you they never must form one love’s cup / To pool the world quenching pain’s love beyond thirst / And keep not the share of all swallowing others Forever pain weighs it must not grow extinct / Its powers of fortune fear losing its’ plight / But love comes and offers it freedom from this: / Fore-save pains lost knowledge of healing itself And the wound is, and now life lands upon the future was / Living has reached your eyes’ soul / And blindness has forced you to see your soul’s ravel / Through the loom of Good’s Evil & Evil’s Good travels Soul steps are here, as it all turns too real. / Physical stones tied to spirit’s unknown / By webs of raw innocence; faultless at birth / Blamed now and weighed at survival’s sane cliff Being’s form growing has gifted you this / The days are now filling with priceless relief / And more now what lessens inverted dimensions / Still your wing’s flights are delayed by flight lessons Sum love impossible is being born / How you cry at the gorge of your brain’s fabric torn / For pain is a headstone awaiting its’ site / But peace of mind can’t find its plot on this earth It’s here; being born, like the nose on your face / Now the wind gives you all the breath you need / The healing choice of pain ends; old wounds will die / Lay down your harm-laden weapons of fault For all faults are done! / There is no reward! / You are here now! / Harm none; include self! Live you are / Hereby one self and no more / Respect death’s gift / Moment by soul-moments form Heal pain and others will be led by you / Heal pain and other will be healed by you / Let go of pain’s will / For this is Your choice © Copyright 1/9/2008 C.C. Arshagra / From “the Poetry of good-bye” Series and collention (Unpublished work)
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How hard could it be I thought to myself. Surely you just throw and catch stuff? Why bother with those little namby pamby beanbags? Well… I guess I know now. sobs None of my hats will fit anymore. sigh
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I have been eyeing this tree’s wound for a long time. / Finally got around to photographing it. / I like the colors and textures. / Enjoy! Leah Copyright Notice: / All images are the property of ©Leah Highland and may not be used wholly or in part without the prior written permission by email, including copying, duplicating, manipulating, printing, / publishing (even on a web site), reproducing, storing, or transmitting by any means.
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what can i say, i find violence and gore ammusing at times; this is one of those times.
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S H E
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Acrylic, dirt, earth, tiny pebbles & spray adhesive on canvas (and leaves & sticks) / 60 cm x 60 cm
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