From a Lost Notebook

This is in my poetry notebook that has been misplaced, so I've titled it accordingly. This is what I've remembered from it in the shower this morning.


Those scarred in youth,
deserve the wisdom and spoils of the elders.
While sowing the seeds of happiness and change
over the inner fields of turmoil,
we pass on love, we pass on forgiveness
while time heals all wounds,
will all wounds heal in time?

When touched by the hand of fate
do we understand it's touch?
Wisdom abound, the beholden are stricken by the sun.
The seeds of change we need to bee
as we fly to the new flowers nectar
And wounds never cease to amaze
after we've healed,
and have run life's maze.