Best Scars Poems
These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful,
deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes;
the sorrow I keep within me is dreadful,
my short life has been full of death and whys.
Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes,
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars;
my short life has been full of death and whys,
at night all my beloved are the sparkling stars.
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars,
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies;
at night my beloved are the sparkling stars,
my forever grief is full of long past sweet reveries.
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies,
weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone;
my forever grief is full of long past reveries,
within my soul the forever sorrow still moans.
Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone,
yet from this pain something beautiful was to be;
within my soul the forever sorrows still moan,
and I write from a scarred soul my sad poetry.
Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be,
the sorrow I keep within me is dreadful;
and I write from a scarred soul my poetry,
these scars on my soul are beautiful and painful.
There’s a story here,
embedded within
a righteous reef
of broken silence,
where scars remain
engraved on sea stars,
entangled between sand
in empty oyster shells,
reminding me
to breathe until i reach
the surface,
for hope still swims
through the barnacles
that bloom amidst the blues.
These tears mean nothing
and everything
as they define the demons
I disguise through violent dawns,
though my will to grasp
onto faith is slowly wearing out.
Life and its merciless ways
of enlightening
murky waters with reflections
of taunting tortures
endured across miles,
Keep me unconsciously drowning,
uncontrollably,
unable to seize glowing planktons.
Don’t judge that kid with her arms all scarred
Don’t brand that kid as bad
You never would have survived
If you had the life she had
So say a prayer and show you care
She’s paid more than her share of dues
Don’t put her down or say bad things
Until you’ve walked that mile in her shoes
Those who suffered in war earn respect
They are greeted like super stars
She came from a war you wouldn’t understand
On her arms, the battle scars
Her own home was the battle zone
The desperation, feeling all alone
A situation she felt no escape from
Then late at night the urges come
Innocence lost like a bad dream
No self respect, no self esteem
It is an ongoing battle to feel whole
You can see the beauty within her soul
Sometimes I pray for a Judgement day
You have no heart if you look away
Flashbacks come and the anger stirs
The guilt she carries isn’t hers
There is a need for justice long past due
A need for acceptance from me and you
With anger, despair and fear demanding
The child needs some understanding
In spite of all the tears she cried
There are still battle scars deep inside
Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
gas lamps flickered in the back street
while most of us danced a different beat.
Tragic alleyways of smog and smut
“Live over the brush”* branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the darkest night
gullible back shift broke the morning light.
Adventurous nights at “Townhead Mill”
eight pints of beer the back porch thrill,
when no meant yes in rapturous skill
to fumigated music from “Nashville.”
Obnoxious libertine this bread man
bay curtain drawn delivery van,
the situation conspired indiscretion
clinical the world’s oldest profession.
Sporting gentlemen in summer bliss
caught first ball costly night on the piss,
pavilion home to moorside drover
many a chaste maiden bowled over.
Partial pilgrimage down “Bolton Road”
black and amber heroes round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout the room
manly skills embroider the village groom.
Cardinal days steeped in “Rock ‘n’ Roll”
sire in fear of them out of control,
a colossal wedge between cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?
© Harry J Horsman 2013
*Living in sin
** Play
I Got Scars, Invisible Chains That Tightly Bind
I got scars, invisible but O' so, so deep
Never say never, heart slashed enough to weep
There the darkness came ravaging a broken mind
I got scars, invisible chains that tightly bind
And an epic loss that can any man destroy
When a younger lad, just a poor O' Southern boy!
I got scars, invisible but O' so, so deep
Doorways bringing bad nightmares into my sleep
Those battles, those moaning cries can be heard each night
Tragedy, a shame, such a sad pitiful fight
There the darkness comes cutting up both heart and soul
And lord don’t ya know, it is such a wicked toll!
I got scars, invisible but O' so, so deep.
Never say never, heart slashed enough to weep!
Robert J. Lindley,
Sonnet ( Sad, dark and once so true )
Note:
Musee
See where it burns in Titian's brush
subsides along the cool Aegean stone,
or twists in the fist-faces of Rome,
our only mystery--flesh.
There, uncertainty ends, or does it merely pause?
The surgeon's knife reveals a shadow
no surface contains, our laws
are not what we do or vow.
Yet surface is all, and scars--
the scuttled pains that heal.
Observe how memory collects in flaws
placed where they are most real.
Or how, as flowers, the persistent leaf
bears the color of its grief.
Looking high up in the sky
I stand still in my balcony
Thinking and about to cry
Filthy thoughts are all that fathom me
I am getting high with the air
Thinking of the darkness
And giving the stars a blank stare
Shouting out my mess
And oh! I feel lucky railings are covered
I would have slipped
Bleeding yet undiscovered
And firmly gripped
My darkness would hold me
I knew for sure
Coz what lies inside me
Doesn't have a cure
And oh I could finally sleep
Without the worry of waking up
Maybe some would weep
Thinking its my windup
I wish I come back someday
When you stand in your balcony
You think of me as you may
And maybe then you'd be able to see
A world I have left behind
My footsteps above the stars
And deep inside your mind
You'd know the meaning of my scars
You'd know the meaning of my scars
Serging through life, I whipstitch, weft, and welt,
But always, my thoughts are pick-threading.
As stippled patches of emotion rise and fall in me,
See me, feel me, touch me, heal me
Just too many scars.
The mindless mind stresses itself through mental snares,
I waste away beneath it all, piecing and pondering.
Where the struggling soul and pleating body meet,
I seek significance in life’s lucid-lined layers.
Confronting my inner fears as an owneress,
Time leaves its cursed mark in starched stitches that cut.
Each moment experienced is like a closing zipper,
My calm exterior ridges are often rough, ready, and ruffled.
A life full of scars.
While unique experiences blend like transient ombre shades
My essence feels like a needled complex knit.
Memories form patterns from life’s four-patches
Challenges scissors cut are like shredded sharp diamonds.
Yet more paths diverge along life’s shifting chevrons
I strive to fit somehow; this square is what I do.
Yet my world stands out like tri-recs blocks
Creating stars and pineapples to fight fifty-four forty.
Scars that are hidden and visible, surface and deep.
Like trapezoids, I sense those oblong obstacles loom
Worth or less by my own limited gauge, I measure.
I pray each day new chapters begin casting on
While others exhaust, reaching their bind-offs.
I do seek a pattern master, and I need to pray for one.
I contemplate constantly along selvages of thoughts.
They hang like dangling tails…
I start to visualize my purpose slowly seaming.
Look as I whipstitch, weft, and welt through life, serging.
As I graciously and sagaciously test life’s many swatches,
I devote my life to the Master Seamster the…
Healer of scars.
Nightmare Truths
She hides the truth in nightmare screams,
Refusing to voice fevered dreams,
As moon bent shadows climb the wall,
To bring more demons to her hall.
Those who know her will see no tears,
She locks them away—shows no fears,
Fights her scars in silence alone,
Growing harder her heart of stone.
"I am the eyes of time," whispers the Angel of Death. I watch over you each day of your life,
from birth to death. "Neither dusk nor dawn can delude me." I met Death as a child when he
took my sister away. Before he left his hand stroked my hair, leaving a scar on me. Death has
followed me ever since, taking away all people that I love. I know he is lurking in the shadows
just waiting for my last gasp of life. He is in my dreams but I can never see his face.
the night is silent
I am restless in my dream ~
he is whispering
"O fall, let this lore of love be the last ..." As fall comes I feel the pain of loss in my heart and
soul, the changing trees in the cemetery where I visit their tombs is like the "foliage of farewell."
I will never forget the love lost to Death. All those names engraved in cold stone. All the dead
roses left in love. There will come a day when I am old and gray and unable to come, it will end,
one day will be the last.
the trees reach for me
and the angel statues weep ~
the birds sing so sad
The days of my life are like leaves falling, some beautifully colored red or gold. Some brown
and crumbling, they drift away and I cannot hold onto them. I am waiting whispers Death, do
not be afraid. I have loved you always. I feel each scar in your soul, I have caressed you as you
slept, come to me, "as the leaf of life sleeps upon my lips" I am close. Let me kiss your lips.
I wake up gasping
oh, go away Death I yell ~
I am not ready
Scars on the outside we can see so easily
Scars on the inside cause much more injury
Scars on the outside we can fix with surgery
Scars on the inside we suffer silently
Scars on the outside are a testimony to our pain
Scars on the inside we suffer alone in vane
Scars on the outside are seen by all who play the game
Scars on the inside allow the inflictor to feel no shame
Scars on the outside demand we tell a story
Scars on the inside are void of any glory
Scars on the outside we wear like medals on our skin
Scars on the inside only fester from within
We all wear scars, some inside and some out
We all wear scars, of that fact there is no doubt
Some of our scars we wear in perfect symmetry
Most of our scars are where no one else can see
God Sees the Scars
When someone close has proved untrue,
Betrayed your simple trust...
Used you for their selfish ends and
Trampled in the dust
The past, with all its memories,
And all its treasured ties,
The Light is blotted from the sky -
For something in you dies.
Red and deep our wounds may be-
But after all the pain,
God's own finger touches us
And we are healed again.
With faith restored,
And trust renewed
We look towards the stars...
The world will see the smiles we have, but
God will see the scars.
How they laugh and they point as they whisper ‘bout me
And they only can see what their shallow eyes see
Though my surface is not picture perfect for show
How this heart bleeds with purpose they never could know
Of the horrors and trials my soul has survived
Of the hell and the fury that killed me alive
I’ve been stripped of my honor and burnt at the stake
Made to live in a nightmare but could not awake
The atrocities bared on my face in display
Oh they cause you to cringe as your eyes turn away
And the truth is my scars are much deeper than face
Just a trace has been left of humanity’s grace
As they came in the dead of the night whilst we slept
Through the house down the hall they so silently crept
I was tied to a chair and with sickened disgust
Made to watch as my daughters defiled with their lust
Oh my sweet baby girls who I failed to protect
Now your innocence lives in my heart where you’re kept
As the flames and your screams took the last of my peace
Melting skin joined my tears as your souls found release
________________________________________
Written 1/2/2017 for Anapestic Tetrameter Contest
Sponsored by: Craig Cornish
Reprisals are sharp thorns from stabbing tongues
causing deep wounds that may never heal.
Regrets are sown in the seams of a guilty mind
where no salve can reach, and scars remain.
November 16, 2021 ~ Liberum Divisa 8 Contest
Taken from the poem: Reprisal or Regret ~ 2016
Contest Sponsored by Gregory Richard Barden
These scars on my soul are beautiful and painful,
deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes;
the sorrow I keep within me is dreadful,
my short life has been full of death and whys.
Deep gashes that cannot be seen except in my eyes,
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars;
my short life has been full of death and whys,
at night all my beloved are the sparkling stars.
I thought the passage of time would heal the scars,
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies;
at night my beloved are the sparkling stars,
my forever grief is full of long past sweet reveries.
I take two white roses to the tomb of my babies,
weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone;
my forever grief is full of long past reveries,
within my soul the forever sorrow still moans.
Weeping I touch all the names engraved in stone,
yet from this pain something beautiful was to be;
within my soul the forever sorrows still moan,
and I write from a scarred soul my sad poetry.
Yet from this pain something beautiful was to be,
the sorrow I keep within me is dreadful;
and I write from a scarred soul my poetry,
these scars on my soul are beautiful and painful.
_________________________
December 12, 2015 (Repost)
Poetry/Pantoum/''Scars"(originally Beautiful Scars)
Copyright Protected ID 12-1122-511-12
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Submitted to the Premier contest, Your Best Poem, 2020
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place
________________________
Originally posted with the title of Beautiful Scars
Submitted to the contest, Favorite Rhyming Poem Ever, Lu Loo, First Place
Submitted to the contest, Your Personal Favorite Poem, Ironik, Third Place
Submitted to the contest, Your Absolute Best, The Seeker, Fourth Place
Submitted to the contest, A Poem You Are Proud OF, Skat, Fourth Place
Submitted to the contest, Favorite, sponsor, Casarah Nance, First Place
Submitted to the contest, Best Old Poem, sponsor, Judy Konos, First Place
Featured poem on Arthur Vaso's poetry site, 2016
Put to music, 2015, by Silent One
Poem Of The Day, December 17, 2015