Scars Poem by Liilia Talts Morrison

The wounds of life can't be avoided
in work, in play, or deep within
none is immune to swords of battle
no man, no woman and no child

Some brave the undertows and torrents
of raging rivers, mighty falls
some burn and sweat in distant deserts
while others pound cold prison walls

In confrontations, conflagrations
vile snipers, vipers, pierce and bruise
none can escape the fiery furnace
of growing up and growing old

How often have I seen a sailor
with twisted nose and pockmarked face
how often have I heard the stories
of where and when those marks took place

It's true some show their many clashes
on arms and legs and backs and chests
while those inflicted by the spirit
can hide deep in the veins within

The other day I met a woman
sitting so cold and prim and tall
her skin and hands smooth as a baby's
whose heart was scarred the most of all.