What a tragic
mistake,
a catastrophic flaw,
that there are not scars
for joy.
The pain, my love,
the pain leaves its marks:
the days it was too much
or we too little,
the times we fell too far
and rose too slow.
I am littered with reminders
of harder days gone by,
but scars of joy,
i find not on this flesh,
aging as it is.
Inside maybe, perhaps
they live there,
hidden and buried and
burning bright.
Bright beneath the remnants
of sorrow on the surface.
-Tyler Knott
Gregson-
