Scars are plowed experiences
Waiting for memories to rise. 
Blooming reminders of pain and 
Discomfort buried in life. 
Harvesting the fruits and spoils 
Propagating the fallen seeds
Into unsoiled fertile grounds
To produce stalks without leaves. 
So when the plantation spans
Distances encumbered by time
How many moons will rise
Before colorful letters become blind?
When the winds rise with dust
And noise drowns intimate words,
Will pride still swell with the tides?
Will best intentions meld and blur?