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.
Your poem flows so gracefully about lifes sorrows. I really like it, but hope that one sees the beauty as well.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful piece and written so beautifully! This poem is brilliant! Added to my list of favorites!