Scar Tissue
How often I have bloodied up these hands,
These arms, upon some jagged engine block,
Or on the razored shrouds of cooling fans,
And left upon my flesh a mark or pock.
O opener of many lesions, Thou,
Who rule the world we were allowed to spoil;
God of the thistle and the sweaty brow,
Ordainer of the blood of all our toil --
These scars are very agents of your grace.
We might have bled to death from modest cuts,
Except new tissue fills each wounded place.
Scar tissue heals us from those bloody ruts.
The scars are stark and most corporeal.
They neither fade, nor leave our lives to cease;
But of each hurt they make memorial,
And from each gaping wound they grant release.
© 2019, Paul Erlandson
