Charles Garrison

Scars: by Charles Lamar Garrison

I know it’s difficult to invision how one, who was torn, from vineyards made of thorns, could be anything but scarred. And scarred I may be. But without scars, we’d no way of knowing who we actually are. As a horizon without a blemish is void of direction. It is between skies and concrete of similar hues, that you ask me to find heaven. You see, these wounds are merely keys on this piano of life. And our pulse is a fading melody. Given tomorrow is a song I never expected to sing. Places I no longer welcome to travel. People I no longer welcome to see. But if I could sing this song until I could sing no more. I would do so forever. If by some chance I never see you again…

Charles Lamar Garrison
DOC #496-360

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