Scars Of Time

Thinking that my life is all figured out,
I sit back and wait for another mess up.
Another chance to feel broken into pieces,
trying to collect myself and let go of the fear,
the fear of being in the dark again,
trying to chase the far light.
I sit back and complain to the almighty,
"Why do I end up being stuck?"
Waiting for the time to fly by,
and, not leave scars.
I sit back and remember the past,
full of shallow and deep scars,
giving meaning to the life I lived.
And yet not realizing their importance, and,
overseeing the emptiness without them.
I sit back and hush the moment,
waiting eagerly for it to pass.