Synapses fire.
Burned into my essence,
honored ghostly presence,
songs that guided like stars,
surprise me, out of time.
Stories told in childhood,
filed scraps like photographs
return to older eyes.
So close I didn’t see then.
Now brings appreciation, great waking
sadness, ironic laughter.
Scars are evidence of active life.
What once embarrassed
matures as humility, pride without hubris
for acquittal with civility
past exuberances, youthful folly.
Critical ignorance
only long rumination can absolve.
Crying seems clichéd,
out of place.
I feel charge to ignite new emotion,
arts of expression,
obviate scars’ stagnation.

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