Clarity in Muddied Waters

A Messianic Journey Through Pen and Peace. Writing from the Stillness Within.

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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam’d upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From Maytime and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

Battle Scars

Battle scars.

It can be a graze or a gash, it can be a scrape or a scratch, but the inner wound always stays fresh.

Each one comes with a story, each one with a tale to tell.

Even if they heal, they will always be visible to you.

Battle scars.

Deeper then the flesh they are, deeper than any pit goes.

Each one with a lesson, each one with a failure, each one with a triumph.

Battle scars.

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