Sunday, February 22, 2015

Little Scars

The tattered tales of the endless broken
So proud of our scars
From wounds we didn't earn
Our empty facade, lamenting our torments
Rattle the cage and peer through the bars
Not seeing the lessons we still haven't learned

Those who wail the loudest
Are those who have never felt pain
A scrape feels like death to a child
To the veteran deep wounds happen time and again

Those who wail the loudest
Often have the least to say
But when the silent share their whispers
The realization my change your way

So bask in youth at the altar of self
Aggrandize and bleed
Pain no one can know
Then stand and wipe the dust from the shelf
The day you no longer need
The pomp and the show

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