i look at my hands,
and i see the place where
the chisel slipped when i was a boy,
and countless other wounds
were wrought into my flesh,
from a life spent touching and working with
my hands,
and i know it is a life worth remembering,
a life of substance,
a life that changed those whom i have loved,
and each scar bears witness to that life,
so that when i am old,
i may recount the tales to young lives,
and lay my scars at their feet -
a challenge to live their own lives fully.