Plagued by scars of past imprudence
Of mistakes and selfish impulse,
A heart struggles, not to pump blood
For that is self-preservation.
This fight is for the survival of a soul.
The scars speak stories
Of painful interactions, lost friendships
Horrible sparring matches,
Deceptions and betrayals
And misunderstandings.
Things that cannot be forgotten.
Our souls are not tolerant
Of the ugly truths or little white lies
They must be exposed and reconciled
For buried inside the brew of desperation
Sits a conscience that will not be repressed.
These are things people will never admit to
It paints and taints them
Prompting reactions of hate and disgust
Isolation, and even revenge
But that is not the path of a true heart,
Our conscience will forbid it.
The heart is meant to be an instrument of love
To convey generosity without expectation
To give and foster respect
To treat those it encounters to feel very special
It is what the soul has intended.
So the heart beats on
In the hope that the scars will fade and disappear
Absorbed In the murky waters and ugly pits
Amidst the things of hurt that wait to be let go
Where only true redemption can occur.
