“A scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I survived.”
― Chris Cleave, Little Bee

You plucked my wings
feather by feather
pulled it out in pieces
from the blades of my shoulder
You can bloody me all you want
shred me into pieces
and rip them into halves
for everyone to see it.
Your hands sanguine with my
seraphic blood
your soul
deeply encumbered.
But you can’t douse the
eternal flame in me
the one which is burning
and giving me the intensity
the light of my being
my aura,
my personality
these wounds will heal
and scars will be formed
that is how the life sustains
that is how life is born.
Photo by Gaston Roulstone on Unsplash
Reblogged this on Megha's World and commented:
My piece of Whisper and the Roar today.
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Excellent
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Thanks so much Candice
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