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?