At the Altar
Fleeing in the early morning,
her footsteps echo in the empty room,
the scars still fresh,
even those, perhaps mostly those
that go back years,
her perfect demeanor shattered
by the courage to expose the wounds
and leave the perfection,
never a real thing,
at the altar.
About this poem.
A poem for all who have left their situations of abuse.There comes a time when we can no longer pretend, and let our brokenness show. This is the beginning of true healing.
The poem could have been a he or she, but I had a picture in my files for the “she”. Taken at the Hollins Chapel in Ronaoke, Va.
Tom
Quarry House 
Being an artist I make it a point to reveal the scars and wounds. Saves me money and time seeking mental help from a psychologist and helps me heal rapidly all the while leaving a relic like your poetry for others to enjoy. Having being married three times (still married), I am not afraid of failures. I say practice makes perfect and so far it has only gotten better.