Scars

Scars can be fleeting,
Alive then dead.

A gentle whisp of wind, fluttering over the crisp white page,
The gentle touch of a butterflies wing,
The softness of silk and satin,
A soft kiss on your cheek.

Scars can be eternal,
Here for good.

The pain on a widow's face when she hears that the man she loves is dead,
The dispair of a mother when her new born baby dies in her arms,
The man, left without a leg from walking into a minefield,
When the person you love, leaves.