This old man sits staring through damaged eyes. How many years ago did he become old? Was it yesterday that this body had these wrinkles? When did these scars appear? By whose hand? Mine? Oh. Yes, it all comes back to me.
The scars on the surface are minor. They mask the scars that still throb on the inside. They are old and often forgotten, but not gone. A flip of the hand in a certain way brings back flashes. The flashes will never fade. Old eyes still look into a boy’s soul. Can I ever have been so young? Could I ever have been so vulnerable? Yes. Sadly, yes. A lifetime of running and searching. Running from a nightmare that will never end. The nightmare that started so many years ago, by a man that has walked the spirit world many years himself. Such power in such awful acts. Uncaring acts that leave the search for peace an odyssey with no horizon in sight. Absolution for an unasked for violation. That is what is sought.