The scar

It came to me, my unreasonable fear
that I have been burdened with for many a year.
My fear of falling, the small white scar:
My fear of loving, why I’ve kept afar
The times I’ve started awake or couldn’t fall
asleep, to rest, to wake refreshed, loved. That’s not all
that scar I bear, I’ve born for many a year
it seems to have been there before I was here.
A small white scar upon my side
could it be the reason for why I’ve cried
like a waterfall for those psychological years of being alone
or the nightmares where my tongue turned to stone
and if I fell I would die and live again
born up from the ground
then repaired and the clock set to begin its cycle
ticking away in the silent darkness while Michael
sleeps as a tiny baby in the windowsill
and wakes and falls and falls and falls until
the clock stops in the murderous night
and the baby Michael bleeds light
the glass is removed from the shaking flesh
by strangers, fearful strangers who couldn’t care less.
But I fall into the street through a windowpane
and from a babies unconscious mind into an injured sleep did it drain
all information from my brain
of love, care, future, security, wiped out by the pain.
Then through the years of darkness hidden
the babies hurt, its cries hidden
its falling in and out of love
its falling down, its looking up alone
its jumping feet upon the imaginary ground
its crying, its forgetting, its knowledge woven with the sound
of breaking glass and falling and crashing down.
A fall that haunts and hurts and comes around
like the flash of a dragons tail upon my head
to startle me awake from the old lumpy bed
And who picked me up, who loved me on that day
and why did the shadow of the accident never go away?
When the war was five years over, peace was declared
Armistice came and went and people dared
to breathe the air freely and forget very nearly
that life resumed its path into the cold grey light

I have a small white scar caused by falling out of a window as a baby
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