From the two pieces of poetry, though there exists a third iteration, on scars I have written as of late, it may be easy enough to surmise that I find scars beautiful. They are a testament to sufferings thrashed, pain defeated, even if that only be temporary. But there is one thing in particular that I love most about them.
Only the living have scars.
And so much as we have scars, we know that we live, that those we love live. Each scar is a remembrance of life, of shadows lit and present luminance. I daresay that those with no scars will struggle to know and appreciate life the same, finding my own views one with Alexandre Dumas when he said that “we must have felt what it is to die… that we might appreciate the enjoyments of life”.
Scars help us maintain perspective in sunny days, amplifying their light in remembered comparison of forgotten darkness. We can see the shadows without the clouds, without their blocking the sun’s warmth. Even when the sun is veiled by clouds, still it shines. And we are reminded that even these clouds will pass, and we will feel its drape upon our skin and heart once more.
So don’t curse the scars you have, but bless them. Bless the ones on those you love. Bless God for you live and see life all the better for them.