I still have a scar on my hand from a sharp blade.
I forget when the cut was made.
One of many over a long lifetime
of slips & full failures.

Was it my hand you took in yours?
You knew there was no such thing as safety.

Each finger filled with past threats &
disgrace from the things I have touched.

To just touch you.
Can your grace erase the seared scars
& poignant, putrid memories

of these hard hands?


  • Doggerel Dave

    I liked that one very much, reb.
    Not just scars on hands.....

  • Jerry Reynolds

    Good poem, Reb.

    • rebmasters

      Thank you my friend

    • L. B. Mek

      so relatable, I agree that at times
      there's a palpable physical residue: from loss (in its various forms)
      that we have to pointedly - overcome, in addition
      to the mental trauma, of it all..
      a clever take and wonderfully paced!

    To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.