Cicatrise

To heal and scar this way is burdensome too far
to bear alone in peace – narrow blades of fortune
don’t condone mistakes or random chance of fate
as fair or foul, or foiled in avid cut and thrust of
bare but venomous miscegeny; matched finesse
of strength’s vivacity compares as fearless dash
or wears a penchant’s frown, whereas duplicity
equates au pair with rampant perfidy

So scars are worn a rhapsody – and fate a score
of music writ with liberal flair for air or string;
voices sing with verve in praise of fantasy, brows
upraised, nerves a-twinge, there’s space there
now, places sure to share amaze within –
you can abjure your penance and be free
© 31 August 2011, I. D. Carswell