The opened heart aches to close again.
The unevenness protrudes its barbs into the chasm.
The chasm where ghosts of the past reside.
The ghosts act in tandem, try to heave me inside.
But the smile, so effortlessly prevents me from falling in.
The war is biased.
Standing on the edge, gazing into the depths of the chasm,
I ask myself “Should you love again?”
For the smile may fade, the war may be lost.
I look at the scars, they scream in agony.
Sullenly, I argue, “but would you have any hope of healing,
if I damn you with these ghosts and their whips”
“Only love can heal these wounds, these scars.
Only love can fill this void of a chasm.
Only love can help tame these ghosts within.” I smile.
Yes, I smile and end the polemic
“Can a butterfly ever survive with a closed heart.”
The silence follows. They all agree,
Even the ghosts do.