Box of Scars

Box Of Scars (A work in progress) There is a piece that will not fit, that I have kept locked in the deepest chambers of my soul. There it has remained, not nearly forgotten, for years. Decades. Centuries Eons. A painful piece with perfect edges that cut clean through most everything it touches with a brilliant light. A light so sharp and so dazzling that it can only be contained by the damaged tissue created from whence it first emerged. A box made of scars, hiding the shadows of potentiality. The piece has a name. It is known, but not uttered. It is seen, but not gazed upon. It is heard, but not listened to. It is felt, but not held. It has a time, but it is not now.