Scarring’s Perpetual Bliss


Our surface etchings,
how quiet the disfiguring moves,
skin's tenacity ever protective
even as tissue of smiles eventually
becomes but canyon topography of times past.

Leisurely proceeds savage healing beneath,
bombarded with nature's unexpected,
aging platelets shift,
taking their time,
knowing we wait the uplifting hope,

now sorrows time buried,
making molten the flow,
once contained and hardened.

Whether by deed,
word or thought,
wounds start open,
their scars knowing patience,
art rendered of the dreaded kind.

And then...

A day finally arrives,
scars begin to shrivel,
age becomes its own embrace,
the earned chameleon friendship,
a cycle complete,
the rebirth of crying,
the wrinkled baby awaiting protection.

This time with the long sleep
poised at the threshold
where awakening remains unnecessary.

 
Smile muscles mix with sadness,
as one's completed resonance becomes
the all as one once more. 

Such is scarring’s perpetual bliss.