Tattoos of the Soul
Poem for Day 263 – 20150921
If I record from the book,
every person I seemed to be,
my skin would be exhausted
before I turned to chapter three.
All the masks and all the works,
fragments of a life too diverse
for a soul seeking quiet solace
from the desire to leave this earth.
Some themes do throughout persist,
a narrative for the stranger's eye,
nine-tenths truth to ease the mind,
window dressing for a tattooed soul.
The other tenth is where I really live,
resident of the most true self,
of this there is no desire
to apply pigment to my skin.
No ink records the trials felt within,
look to the stars for these refrains.
No scribbles on flesh betray the past
abandoned in the wake of circumstance.
All the versions that came before,
revisions of a changing man,
dialogues with the gods discarded
as the wheel turned round and round.
Seeking to forget the troubled past,
questing for a future alternate,
you'll find no ink to explain
the memories I left behind.
Look beyond to the masks I wear,
into the eyes of quiet despair,
hopes and fears, and unshed tears,
sum of life tattooed on my soul.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.