Scars, the Silent Witnesses

SCARS, THE SILENT WITNESSES They sneak back as time slips fast, Scars like ghosts of the past, Irritating guests for dinner Under your skin as it gets thinner. These old witnesses emerge spectrally Long forgotten, long-buried ancestrally Under the mobile flexible skin Of youth and the middle age you were in Where work and movement, those liars, Disguised the faces of these testifiers. These spectators who saw your act And then left the theatre untracked - And your fruits which were forgotten, Rosy red or sometimes rotten - Revealing what fitted your basket well And what things from it fell. These Fates forcing you to reassess your existence In the penultimate chance at repentance. The evidence is there: you must account Before the last courtroom to count.