Scars

Not with shame

do I bear my scars

nor with pride

are they worn –

each was earned

on its own field

and I owe them

what I’ve sworn.

Some long faded

still ache at times,

less of the flesh

and more in the soul;

those the deepest

were wrought in the storms

between you and I

and remind me I am old.

Those on the surface

betray the secrets

so carefully hidden

beneath the skin;

they crack and they bleed

and echo the cries

of a thousand nightmares

mirroring my sins.

My scars I’ll keep

to remember me by

as I wither

and my spirit fades;

I wear them with joy

at having lived

and loved,

thankful for the pain.