We wear the scars
hidden by modesty of cloth
remnants of cuts
beneath the threads and stitches
we share the pain
when we cast away the uniform
explaining their origin
bearing naked truth to the trusted
reading their stories
Braille beneath curious finger tips
vulnerable revelations
read by lips of softest caress
unhealed by time
reminders of the inflictions
raised skin zips
eternally closed to imprison
hostage to memory
buried in dungeons of the mind
Living life sentence
time to repair the sharp incisions
not of the scalpel
but the blunt instruments of hurt
jagged lines
to remind us that we survived.
Ciaran Burke
