Stitches and Scars
Angry stitches show something is missing,
tender scars testify to how I have lived.
Ugly are they, and battle-tested,
torn before they can close up again.
Will the wound of my heart keep tearing
when I think back to what has been?
One day to look at it without aching.
No greater relief than to be on the mend.
Will I always weep, will I always suffer
a stubborn heart that insists on its way?
Yet, when I am asked, it would play the big bluffer
and tell you my sorrow is miles away.
For to look is to thrill, to smile, and remember,
and not to look is to forsake my own dear heart.
And though Autumn's leaves drop at the start of September,
when Winter's grip tightens, it is time to depart.
What is a heart but stitches and scars
that shows something missing,
yet, keeps us apart?
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