Upon the Restoration
By Darren Crawford
A success to the eyes of a charred soul,
So to thee, a normal sight.
Downward glaring, staring, horrified by me,
Perhaps deserved for some ancient sin.
Even the best of words now won't console.
Today is met with torn and broken wings.
So to you, mistaken, flawed.
Withdrawn with sympathetic disgust, rightly so.
Perhaps for a future flaw or fall.
Even the deepest sympathy will not make glad.
Love seems only as strong as I am resigned
And so you see my vicious scars,
With tears consoling, mending this phantasm.
Perhaps the only love this poem has ever seen.
Even the softest touch shoots to rage.
Sex is met with tears of pain.
So to you that saw the fall,
Cautious, careful not to abrade.
To protect me from such gaiety.
Even the purest coital pleasure will not replace.
My Body is a sacred holy being.
So to be a scarless wing,
Longing for healing and yearning to feel,
Perhaps again some day I'll see.
The most scarred body deserves revere of its gracious gleam.
Upon the restoration; beams of light
So to gladden my darkest night:
Shine through and bid the demons flee!
Truncation never again to be suffered,
Again rejoined to my lost companion:
Upon the restoration a lifetime of shame,
As shackles, falls onto the ground.
And tears of joy and years of hate
Are met in resolution, pure and full.
Upon this restoration--I am whole.