She Wrought with Pale Scars

How can one be warm steel and wrought iron

all at once made of flesh and soul scars

and the silence just before the death of old stars?

...And there Are scars

small and varied,

long and thin,

and deep--

pale reminders, leaving ghost-silver traces up the back of her hands to the tips of her fingers.

and with this...

she wrought

she wrought worlds of earthen men,

city denizens

stories of ice and flame,

of fatherhood

and daughterdom

oflifeandstruggleandpainandself-doubtandloathingandfearandwonderandmagicandheart...and of hope...

...for others

but in the barest whisper...of hope for herself

She wrought

from the sounds of crunching metal

and the screech of a broken heart

She wrought

from the fears of every daughter

at the sight of broken men

the tears of every lover 

without love

once again

from the eyes of every dreamer

and the shades of paths unwalked

to the roughly fingered path

where the innocent was stalked.

They stand, still today

pale strands string from work to fingertip

up the webbed, grey lines

interconnected--a lattice upon lattice upon framework of scars

in a near-permanent state of flux

opening and closing and stopping... 

at the quick