The past was regret.
The future, a promise never seen.
Between them stood a tunnel,
tempting those who wished to rewrite what time had already written.
It offered forgotten smiles,
lost voices,
and dreams buried beneath sorrow.
Yet every step within its silence
asked for a piece of the life still waiting outside.
Time was never its victim…
you were.
Each heartbeat traded
for another chance at yesterday.
Pain may shape us.
Guilt may follow us.
Regret may whisper our names.
But the past is a place to remember,
not a home to return to.
For no tunnel can heal
what acceptance alone must mend.
It can only ask
how much of tomorrow
you are willing to surrender
for a yesterday that will never truly be yours again.
The tunnel was never a gate.
It was a choice.
To lose yourself chasing echoes,
or to carry your scars
and walk toward the light waiting ahead.
Scars tell a story
Of a life that has been lived
That's dreamt of a tomorrow
After all the **** is sieved
Scars provide some clues
Of what you had to face
Damage to the body
Forever leaves its trace
Scars of the mind
More difficult to tell
Hide behind the smiles
Of living after hell
If only we would recognise
That scars signify health
They would be held in high regard
More valuable than wealth
For they map our survival
Humankind's desire
To overcome all obstacles
And something to admire
Maybe the scars have
Meanings-
Not pain,
But proof.
Each mark is a map
Of what tried you
And failed.
Runes of survival
Lit by Oldumare 's breath.
Pain fades
Truth stays
Every scar says:
Still here
It starts as a whisper, a storm in your skin,
a pressure so loud, it echoes within.
Not for attention. Not for the show.
It’s the scream you can't let anyone know.
It's the moment you drown, desperate to feel,
when numbness becomes the loudest appeal.
They say, “Just talk,” but the words retreat -
how do you explain pain that doesn’t speak?
You cover the marks, pull down the sleeve,
play the part that others believe.
But it’s never about wanting to die -
it’s about needing something to quiet the cry.
And still, you survive. Again. Again.
You wake and ache but try to remain.
Because somewhere deep beneath that ache,
you know there's more than what pain can take.
So here’s what’s true, even if it’s small:
You are not your scars. You are not your fall.
You are the breath that followed the burn,
the strength in choosing each twist and turn.
Let your voice crack, let the silence break -
you’re allowed to need, to bend, to shake.
And if the darkness clings tonight,
let this poem hold the light
My scars are roadmaps to a past
of places I thought I belonged
of places I never should have gone to
and to where I never had a chance to belong.
One particular path led to a place of grand spirit and beauty
now silenced and long since overgrown.
The footprints turning into stone.
The years have gone by
The scars never healed,
You still think you won
The fight on the field
Laughing and smiling
As I hit the ground,
With your fist in the air
I will not forget that sound
You beat me, bruised me
Hit my every nerve,
Now I hear you have gotten
Just what you deserve
To this day, I am grateful
To have ever known you,
Otherwise I might have been
The greatest bully, too.
The borders fell like fever from a long-tormented frame,
No steel was turned, no legions marched, no decree spoke their name.
For when the node of silver wood began its quiet rise,
The phantom lines of sovereign pride dissolved before their eyes.
The ancient ghosts of territory, of fortress, and of crest,
Like winter frost before the sun, sank deep into the breast.
The pain that once had armed the hand and built the concrete wall
Was opened to the anchor node, unmetered, shared by all.
A mother’s cry in Sector One, the drought of Sector Four,
No longer stopped at checkpoints or the barricaded door.
The collective mind, in empathy, received the bitter sting,
And wove the ache of centuries into a single string.
Where once the barbed dividers stood to guard the hollow grain,
Now surged a tide of healing hands to wash away the stain.
The map of old Vaeloria, where blood-bought nations bled,
Became a tapestry of care, by quiet mercy fed.
No citizen was left an island, stranded in their grief;
The shared scar of the species brought its ultimate relief.
Contest: Boulevard of The Beloved
Sponsor: Ink Empress
Prompt: If time turns, will the scars
Stain the sky?
Written for contest: 090426
My dear friend.
It appears that you have set your musings
To the large arena of time and space.
You asked, "If time turns, will scars
Stain the sky?" To your impassioned
Question, I am inclined to say 'Yes'.
Time does indeed move forward in a
Continuous mode: none stop, no waiting.
In so during, time unfolds and reveals the
Naked nature of mankind. Such exposure
Of nature's scars is so penetrating and dark that the clear blue sky will Indeed be severely stained.
However, in spite of the scars and stains,
There is hope and a future for all mankind.
Those scars and stains will not harm the
Rainbow in the sky. That is because the
Rainbow is a prime party of a covenant that
God made with Noah after the destructive
Deluge.
Indeed, time will turn until time shall be no more.
And unfortunately, scars and stains will result.
But we have good reason to be hopeful and
Comforted, because God is forever committed
to his Word, and to the best possible outcome
of mankind.
KELOIDS OF THE MIND
Mental scars of mind;
Raised reminders of journeys:
Scars of conquered trials:-
I never wished to be the fire
That found a home already weary.
I only carried the warmth I knew,
Never knowing it would become your ruin.
If I had seen those fragile walls,
The cracks hidden beneath your smile,
I would have held my flames with trembling hands,
Afraid to turn another memory into ash.
You say your home no longer stands,
That every corner became dust.
Yet ashes are only what remain
When something once burned brightly.
I cannot gather every broken brick,
Nor erase the scars my heat has left.
But if there is one prayer I still whisper,
It is that another sunrise—not my fire—
Will one day teach your heart
How to become a home again.
And if, in another lifetime,
We meet before the flames are lit,
May I learn to be a lantern instead of a wildfire.
Emotional Scars
I see her
I see her not
I see her
I see her not
Moments where she feels me
Moments where she doesn't
An endless game, we play
A game I despise yet
A game which I seem to be a willing participant
Like a game played so intensely every
fall leaves you bruised
But this game leaves no bruises
only emotional scars
Thin scars
now appear so faded.
They mirror iron bars
old yet decorated.
I connect scattered stars.
Branded,
these marks give me away.
If I’m being candid,
lines hold what I can’t say.
Brute force was demanded.
Upon
a wish the light dances,
here and then it is gone.
The roughness romances,
giving strength to build on.
My skin,
delicate mosaic
painted by where I’ve been.
Whichever one you pick?
It’s story leaves a grin.
You applaud when you see
The sunshine
And the giggles
The laughter and the smile
When you see the mask
You would scream when you see
The scars
And the truth that leaks through the cracks
You would cower when you see
The darkness
And how it steals the sun
You would hide when you see
The monster inside of me
The monster that I fight
The monster that is me
Good thing you don’t see the scars.
I would walk when the snow is quiet,
when the trees stand still
and the ground is untouched.
I would not fear the cold.
Winter has taught me
that even empty places
can hold life.
I would walk past the places
that sheltered me before,
step into the snow,
and follow the trail only I could see.
My scars and my steps already tell the story.
The wild already knows.
I have survived every season
that tried to make me disappear.
They call me leaf;
My life is brief;
The wind's stolen a kiss from me like a thief;
The nightingales sing as a new spring's coming;
A season where there's no place for grief;
The sun shines again after a hard winter,
And the sound of the rain helps my pain to relief;
My scars recover when I smell flowers;
When I dance with you in spring showers;
The lightnings tear the heart of the cloud;
They cry so sad, roaring too loud.
The sky's singing a song called rain;
It reminds me of our love,
A love mixed with pain.
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