Scars are a beauty mark, warrior
each a history holds;
tales for cold nights
when, together we lie, talk
satiated, reminiscing;
of the many times life would have
robbed me of you love-
been incomplete for me.
But crazy gods were merciful;
you still live, and I lie
content, your warmth with me
your breath bathing my face.
How will I not
praise the scars I trace in
the leaping flames of the night
when, spared you were
to lie close to me now?
How can I not my fingertips
on those scars run, that marked but
saved you for me?
©GayUganda 19 Jul 08
2 comments:
Scars...do they ever fadeaway?
No, they dont.
Ever there, that's why we should, take strength from them. Celebrate them, rather than mourn them.
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