Writing Our Way Home

Metaphor

Every line, its own particular story,
an epic tale of twists and turns,
dead-ends and missing pieces.
Every stretch mark,
a different chapter;
a new beginning, perhaps
a time of growth
in days of hope.
Every scar,
a hard won battle.
Every pit, pox mark and imperfection
a less vainglorious tale
of strife and indifferent seasons.
And buried within the deepest wound
the bitter barb remains,
an ever-present reminder
of a brutal pain.
But still she stands,
not a beauty, or even pretty
in the conventional sense,
yet in her quiet strength,
not bowed or bent
lies wisdom, grace and peace;
a spirit never broken.

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