Sculpting A Soul - Poem by Mark Sauer
Not accretion, but paring away,
Is who we truly are;
The residue that remains on the last day -
Our essence is a scar.
We ripen by losing and forgetting.
Each choice lops off a limb.
Each act aborts a thousand begetting
Selves; Regret, not the sin,
Is eternal. All the paths not taken
Brought us precisely here;
Infinite potentials forsaken,
All merging to appear
Inevitable, reduced to one thread
In some vast tapestry,
One tessera in a mosaic spread
If only I, like God, could see it led
To some deep-laid beauty.
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