Sunlight streams in
through the cracks
in our antique door,
spilling the day's glow
amongst the hardwoods,
glazing it in caramel,
with specks of the past
twirling and dancing
in the broad rush of light.
I compare myself
to the imperfections
highlighted in the wood,
the grains that have suffered,
the ones that bore too much weight,
they now illuminate the scars
that couldn't be buffed out completely.
Thankfully for our souls,
just because we are damaged,
it does not mean we are useless.
I find a great comfort in knowing
our inner light is much more forgiving,
and that none of us are alone.