Footprints

A scar, 

a piece of art, 

ancient pictograph etchings, 

we leave our mark. 

 As little ones, we accept and 

 make sense of those crazy adults 

turning them into gods and goddesses 

we become to please them 

 Sometimes

sadness is left in the soul 

a sparkling laugh echoes

or 

 misbegotten rejection lives. 

 Now, we hold it all

and allow what is. 

We carry on— not held by hurt 

but healed by truth. 

 We write.