It may be a mark in a time and a space
It may leave markings so strange, so undeserving, and displaced
It need not be too deep to be thought of severely
Yet It can be of stitches that binds us dearly
 
Indelibly left but gone by instant cemeteries
Indelibly gone but left by distant memories

It will be that pill given unbearable to our swallows.
It will be that knife wielded by a hand undone by shadows.
It will be that tear left to commemorate eyes widely shut to fellows.
It will be that wince shuttered by the chest of hollows.
It will be that moment that it begins to govern us to sorrows

It may be that horrid; we easily make it negligible
It may be that minuscule; we dare not define it admirable

For the sun can enliven our skin to warmth…to flake
For the rain can dampen our bones to nurse…to ache
For the gambit of life is but emotions ravenous by fumes
For a beast left to fester will ultimately drain and consume
A day, a night, a life is at summer’s end and winter’s close
Will we only live by one day, by one night, a life - only to leave them exposed?

For we have bodies that house a morphing beast of glow
For it is beyond an embodiment, an ember or a flow
For it can be mangled by ambition and dictum
For it can be strived beyond our motions and victims
For it is but yours and mines that are gapes and closures that we neatly sew
For that beast of wounds is only as deep and as wide as we will let it forever go

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