They say we can see remnants of our past life on our skin,
a sliver of time trapped in our souls,
an echo of our sins,
a murmur of our woes.

It is Death’s gates left ajar,
The penumbra of His scythe.
A birthmark is a battle scar,
Of the fight against time’s strife.

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-Marked

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American Highschool Poets

"Inside of Me"

Topical Winner

Just Poetry!!! National Poetry Quarterly

Spring 2019

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