Why do we cherish each scar?
Are they the icons of our hate?
And is it the hate of ourselves?
Can we forgive ourselves
For being victims?
Do we say we’ve forgotten
When all we’ve done
Is to shut memory away?
Storing it behind glass
Where it can be seen
But not felt?
We have to accept
Before letting go.
To acknowledge
without recrimination.
The ‘why?’ of what’s gone
is a knife that we twist in the wound.
It changes nothing.
It answers nothing.
It achieves nothing.
But it hurts.
All the hurt that is gone
Is a complex combination
Of people and events.
Unhappy circumstance
That signifies nothing.
But the pain is real.
 
Life is not static.
Nothing is fixed.
Events happen.
“Time and unforeseen circumstance”
Affect us all.
And the effect
May be catastrophic.
 – or go unnoticed.
Fate is a chimera,
An illusion grasped.
It does not, can not, exist.
We are responsible.
For our actions
Not those of others.
However they may affect us.