From Scars to Stars
Created by Luke Hundley
I want to share a poem I recently wrote for my wife, Cayce J. Star, about the divinity of connecting with others. I hope it connects with you. Thank you for listening.
Mommy is dying.
A bullet of self-loathing.
A gun to the heart.
How could she hate her life that much?
My brothers, my world, my life, that is the one she hates.
I have never felt so alone.
I fall,
From a desolate landscape into total darkness.
The inversion of explosion infects everything I touch.
My tongue knows only venom.
My hands, only blood.
My feet, only ashes.
I am aimless rage.
I am distortion.
I am depression.
I am the human condition.
It is here I build my temple.
My home.
Alone in silence.
Surrounded by a crowd.
No friends, only victims.
I still feel, maybe more so.
A one-way bridge, soaking it all in.
Like the child I once was.
Shame has become my God.
My glory.
Self-destructing and will not die.
This skin, this life, my own private hell.
The arrogance of believing it can't get any worse.
Instead, my reckless life takes another's.
Seared into my soul, I see him.
Broken, bleeding, dying.
I hear him.
Fighting for a life he doesn't get to keep.
Suicidal tendencies dig deeper holes.
Why won't I die?
God, why won't you have mercy on me?
Prisons, inside and out.
Endless nightmares.
Morning exhaustion contrasts long days and longer nights into relief.
Will this never end?
I see only one path before me—
A new one.
Look for the door.
I find only the darkness I call home.
I surrender.
Zen inside the sound of silence.
I am.
It is.
We are.
Alone.
The voice of an angel.
She invites, "What are you doing in here?"
"I live here."
"Me too," she whispers.
Armor intact, I ask, "How did you come into this place and find me?"
"I was born into this broken body. I can't walk very good. I have never ran, jumped, or swam. My big sister, and best friend, drowned when we were little girls. My dad went home to be with her. My mama's memory is broken. She doesn't remember us."
With a trembling voice and cascading eyes, "I miss them all so much. I don't know why they left me behind."
Quieter still, "So I think I have always been here as long as I can remember."
With subtle intrigue, "How'd you get here?"
I am speechless.
In an instant my eyes search the depth of hers. The amplitude of the journey electrifies my soul and breaks my heart.
She is pure, innocent, beautiful. She is my hero. A bright star in a dark place.
I know, I am not alone. I never was.
I am broken and love broken things. So does she.
Revelation—God has a plan.
My scars have purpose.
I was made for her.
She was made for me.
We were made for the world.
I remember, the mission.
We are not alone.
So many more are still lost.
Alone.
Afraid.
Aching.
Crying.
Confused.
Consumed.
In darkness.
Their journey is their own.
I am no authority.
I am not right.
I am a star, in the dark place.
I am a reminder, they are not alone.
It's enough.
To love.
To connect.
To belong.
To hope.
To inspire.
To know.
We are not alone.
It's enough.
I know.
Because I am.
We are.
God is.
The journey from scars to stars.
Luke has been out of prison for one year as of September 2024. He was born in Kalispell, Montana in the 1980s. In the middle of a challenging childhood, Luke discovered something steady: art. He began doodling as a child and realized quickly that he had natural ability. Making things became a refuge.
In Luke’s own words:
My mother struggled with alcoholism and depression. When I was 12, she shot herself with my .22 cal pistol a few days before Christmas. She survived the gunshot wound to the lungs; however, the mother I knew was gone. She was never the same after that. Neither was I.
I searched for control or escape. I found it in painkillers. I became addicted to OxyContin. One Friday evening, like a thousand others, I drove my girlfriend and her two children to rent movies. While driving there, someone stepped out in front of my car. After the car came to a stop, I immediately called 911, then ran to his aid. The details of what I experienced next, and the scar it has left on my soul, is better left unsaid for now. He did not survive. I was charged with negligent homicide and sentenced to prison.
Throughout all of this, I did a lot of deep reflection and the objective truth is, I am deeply enmeshed into my periphery and everything in it. I realized how every decision I made created waves and ripples that plug into eternity, and that I was responsible for said waves and ripples. It took blood on the surface to get me to see the wounds that lie deep underneath.
All of this clarity emphasized what drugs had taken from me—everything. The magnitude of self-deception was embarrassing. So I wanted to make it really clear to myself, and any other that has been down that road, not to forget what rampant drug addiction costs—it costs everything, even life itself.
I know the almost overwhelmingly beautiful experience of getting to truly connect with others on deeper levels through the sharing of music, poetry, art, and just our journeys. To be a part of that, especially after what hurt I’ve done, is a gift and an honor. I am grateful for the opportunity. I hope we get more opportunities to share.
This past September 2024 was one year home. I intend to keep at it, as I feel a calling to it. The honor is mine.
“It has been such an honor and a privilege to get to be a part of the art of soul making. It’s given some meaning and some purpose to some of my struggle and my story. Getting to share my art with the world has also been really such an honor. It’s been like gaining a new family, a new circle of people to connect and create with. Such an honor, such an honor. Thank you so much.”