In the quiet depths where cuts run too deep,
Lies a schoolroom of shadows, where sorrows seep.
These gashes, raw and endlessly profound,
Serve as stern guides on this battleground.
Each scar, a lesson etched into the soul,
Mapping pain’s harsh toll, yet making us whole.
For wounds, unhealed, become our sternest guides,
Teaching us to navigate life’s ruthless tides.
But with these lesions, friendships may fray and wane,
As echoes of the past resurrect the pain.
Memories, like specters, lurk in the light’s embrace,
Threatening to drag us back to a darker place.
Thus, some connections are lost along the way,
Casualties of battles we fight day by day.
Yet, this attrition is part of the cost
For the wisdom gained and the innocence lost.
In the tender balance of light and the past’s gloom,
We tread carefully, as healers and as the wounded.
Though some cuts might never fully disappear,
Their teachings resonate, crystal clear.
These are the scars that do not let us forget,
Each a reminder of the debts not yet set.
In their persistence, we find an unexpected grace,
Powerful mentors in life’s relentless race.
0 Comments