Poetry

The firebrands
piercing flesh and mind
creates the scars of hideous kind.
Ugly sores you hide beneath
wishing to others you could bequeath.
From archers waiting in quiet sites
they pull and shoot from awesome heights.
It seems the places they have wounded more men
are the spots where goodness and joy are gotten.
Who shoots these brands that hurt so many?
God, devil? Reveal, let us see.
Who ever it is please let me be.