A scar to tell...

Scars abound; pink, white and brown,
Each with a tale to tell;
Some in anguish, many in sorrow,
A few in happiness as well.
A story to each, from scrapes on knees,
To stretches across a plane;
Perhaps our tricks and climbing trees,
Or rough-housing, when games remain, not games.
A sharpened blade, a broken glass,
Edges unnoticed by the eye;
A clenching fist, with digging nails,
Efforts to see through a lie.
The need to feel a thing besides,
A broken heart, ripped from its place;
Hope withdrawn and pain derived,
With salten rain in call to disgrace.

Sreedevi.