Poemetry: Sacred Scars

Most scars cannot be seen, veiled but a while,

but those gracing your skin grace me with a smile

 Thankful I am for those sacred scars,

that notch your arm, counting each conquered harm.

Each stripe, broken bread and communion wine,

remembrances of sufferings divine.

You live — you live! — and thanks is a thanks in part

for no thanks can fully empty my heart;

thousands of thanks would never suffice

so I will thank God for each scar but twice.


This is a reworking of yesterday’s poem. I’m not sure which I prefer. This one seems more clear and follows a much more rigid meter; yesterday’s seems more emotional and raw. Maybe the third time will be the charm?

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