Scars and Spirits

Scars adorn the hides of our fleshy shells
Like the mean battle dress of an artichoke
As time peels away our evolving skins
To eat at a pit of heart and hope

Hollandaise-strewn and sweet as the dawn
Our centers just go on and on…
Like the magic mystery of a tootsie pop
But the jaws of life will never stop

And we live for the truth if nothing else
Days are ruth if we cannot breathe easy
The unfettered fate of a genuine soul
Is to suffer the ache of being not easily

And surrender to death when the time is right
We all make the journey out of sight
By letting go and not clinging to anything real—
This is how our spirits heal.