Among yesterday's leftovers

In the vast canvas of human existence,

where laughter, tears and tomorrow are intertwined,

resides a mark that time has not erased,

a scar of the past, on the skin of the soul engraved.

Oh, scar, you are a reliquary of memories,

an album of moments, stories and creeds,

you tell stories of struggles and triumphs won,

of loves blossomed and dreams that were cut short.

In the weft of your texture, a poem reveals itself,

verses written with the dye of life in its imprint,

each mark is a chapter, a fragment of life,

a narrative that the heart does not forget.

Captivate in your being the laughter and the anguish,

the shining hopes and the sturdy falls,

the days of radiant sunshine and stormy nights,

the fulfilled promises and the painful words.

You are a mute witness of the days gone by,

of the roads traveled, of the dreams dreamed,

a lighthouse in the darkness, guiding with certainty,

a compass that points to greatness.

The marks that form you are not signs of weakness,

but testimonies of resilience in adversity,

each line carved into your living history,

is a reminder of what we truly are, brave.

In your deep furrows, lessons are hidden,

the lessons that enrich us, that tumult us,

every blow suffered, every wound healed,

are pearls in the necklace of carved life.

Just as the river carves canyons in the rock,

time molds in us its stamp and its mouth,

scars are treasures, not marks of shame,

they are medals that bear witness to our resistance.

Among yesterday's leftovers, The Poem of the Past,

a hymn to the memory that nestles in the soul,

a tribute to the strength that in our veins beats,

the scar of the past, in the history of each life.

(Image made by AI).