Incomplete

(true to its name I have never finished this piece despite many attempts to create the final stanza)

What are we, if not victims of circumstance?
Veterans come home from a war
Like dog tags we carry shattered remains of our hearts
Hung loosely at our fragile core

Who are we, if not prisoners to our own lives?
Trapped in memories of those unpleasant events
Despite attempts to graciously move on
And conceal the bruises and dents

Where are we, if not still in the past?
Unable to let it go
Broken...ghosts of our former selves
The present will never get a chance to know

When will we, if ever finally heal?
Though we all inevitably bear the scar
It will always be integrated into us
But must never define who we are

Why are we, clearly fooling ourselves?
Two tattered shards cannot make a whole one
But denying the future the opportunity to be
Will not make the past undone...

                                                                                 Christine G. Francis