Scars
In the night I hear the sounds,
A bellow from afar.
I reach to find what is lost,
only to re-open my scars.
The sound I hear I cannot know,
Guttural is the voice.
The scar that is ripped open flows,
To another misguided choice.
I desperately seek solace within,
the dark recesses of my mind.
Only to find another scar,
My thoughts are intertwined.
Moments of freedom without the screams,
A respite for the ways.
To seek the sounds that cause my fears,
Leads me to better days.
Until I meet the shattered voice,
My scars will always show.
Finding the light within my heart,
Maybe too late to ever know.
I go down on bent knees,
To pray to heal those scars.
Until the answer comes from within,
I will go on picking at those scars.
Copyright © Frank Quintana | Year Posted 2012
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