What have I done
Upon a time, when I looked up
To see what tears I have shed, upon my own eyes,
From my own sun?
My own light
Has wept a current, a trail for me to follow
With steps that cross,
Though, are not so elegant
As she,
The woman,
With burdens I have created
With these terrible hands, that show so many scars.
Nothing is whole
On my own.
Nothing has a place, in my mind
Without love.
Her anguish, and her sorrows,
Her tears, burned into tomorrows.
Each has been caused by the me I do not like
Of myself.
When did I go wrong?
“The Hands Enveloped in Scars” – Poem
Modern Romanticism 