Photo by Grégoire Bertaud on Unsplash

When I am old and grey
Hands white and frail
I hope to see my past in a way
That my scars tell a worthy tale

Upon my cheek, a thin cut
From my sister, dear
When she could not get her own way
I still love her so dearly

My knees, weak by sport and surgery
Cut open, flayed and repaired
But still so inferior in interior
Small marks that ache in winter’s cold

The puncture in my palm
From my old puppy, now gone
Pieced in protecting from eating glass
I am still sad she has ate her last

Gash down my lower leg
Received from a cinder block
Dropped one of four on the job
To lighten my Father’s Mason load

These scars and more I bear
Some bright, some dark, some fair
All show how I have lived
I hope my life was worthy

Charles writes on art, history, politics, travel, fantasy, science fiction, poetry. BA, MA in Political Science, Phd Pending. Inquires: charlesbeuck@gmail.com

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