It tells a story
Not like the savior from glory
For HIS scars bore the sins of my life
And the strife that it carries
My scar, the one that you can see
Tells of the pain of my love
For one that withholds it from me
Rips it from my grip
Dropping me into a bottomless pit
Where I’m falling, sinking like a stone
Redefining the abyss of my soul
To me in varying arrays of colors and images
It isn’t quite healed
It’s still tender to the touch
For each and every time I feel
That I can handle much much more
That what most have in store
I slip, I fall, I stumble, I call out to anyone
That can help me
Survive
Stitches
Band-aids
Neither seem to stop the flow of blood
That pours down to the ground
It does resound
Deep within my mind
The Scar
It may never heal
For that which brought the pain
Has never taught a more challenging refrain
And now has laid a significant claim
To my mind, my heart and my soul
Forever, beyond the scope of time
The Scar
Spare no details, tell me exactly what you think about this ...
Comments
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The scars we carry
come from many sources. Are they wounds we have learned from or did the lessons they had to teach get tossed aside because of pride or pain? Some wounds never heal and some scars should be displayed with pride. They are proof that we survived. -
Oh my....
you have really laid your soul out within your words T....
I have so much I want to say...but won't. I know that you are absolutely incredible...if it's poetic purging...raw emotion is definitely showing through.
I am thankful to have the opportunity to read your work...sincerely.
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