We all have old scars
And sometimes the grey
Of Autumn brings them out
Just a little more when we feel
That cold air rush through
And the sun dips below the clouds
(These are seasonal scars that
Bloom like flowers in spring)
What before was a smile
Is now an agonizing memory
Almost tied in the heart and
The veins must run like
Knots bleeding out the pain
And when we experienced it
We yelled:
THIS HURTS TOO MUCH!
They say that's how you know
It was real, the pain,
And with time the scars turn
Into something else,
Like flowers in the spring.