I have been scored by the sands of time;
They have seared me in their running.
They have fissured my eyes and cratered my brow;
They have eaten inappropriate openings into my heart;
They have scratched my very soul.
And so I come to the present hour,
Harrowed and hacked by the hourglass,
The winds of change whistling through my ragged apertures,
As I explore myself for substance
And touch only wounds.
by David Singleton
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| Skin-terrain © Jennifer Phillips |
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