Scarred

Everybody gets hurt.
Pain, if nothing else
Is a constant reassurance of life.
Wounds leave scars
Physically, mentally
And scars serve to remind
The living that not all is dead.
If the knife punctures deep
Bleeds the irony hot life
From a body
Then it will scab, and flake, and heal
Leaving a pale cord behind.
If a sadness consumes thought
Drains the joy of existence
From a mind
Then it will pulse, and fade, and heal
Leaving a cold, bitter memory in its wake.
The infliction of pain
Keeping time with the
Revolutions of the world
Never cease, rarely sway.
It is those who
Dance with the moon
Spinning about the earth
Oblivious to its heat
That live truly, fully alive
And they live scarred.