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.
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