These Sacred Scars

These sacred scars I bear are

not self-inflicted, but life induced.

I stand indicted

of others’ crimes

and cannot answer

for what’s not mine.

What I do

is cry in the dark

and bear witness

to the empty room,

the barren sky,

the callous cosmos,

that I bleed as

an innocent man.

Spring Yet Remains

Time passes, and seasons change.

I’ve walked this road with others who have

now departed, some not of their will, some not

of their power, but all the same,

not here.

It’ s lonelier now, yet no less lovely than

it’s always been.

It’s just that the silences grow deeper

toward the end.

Thoughts grow louder, and

small victories are

celebrated quietly in the heart

with whispered exclamations.

I feel gentle fingertips of a chilling herald wind

brush my cheek, and

smile at the inevitable winter.

And here in the cider- scented,

gathering autumn,

these vibrant colors

of my later years,

glorious before the blackened white

of my return home,

spring yet remains.