Today I would like to share with you a
poem written by my son.
Scars
Do you laugh because he is young?
Is he not fast enough?
Strong enough?
Does he not have the look of a warrior?
Look again!
See how he walks!
There is care in where he steps.
See his glance,
Which takes in the room
Determining friends or foes.
Watch how he carries his sword
Always ready,
But never threatening.
These aren't enough?
You still doubt him?
A scar is a sign of battle.
It marks a wound
And may remind its bearer of sorrow or joy.
One does not acquire these scars through cowardice,
And rarely is the scar desired by its bearer.
But look closely at the warrior scarred,
And marvel how he takes his weapon to continue the war he is called to.
These scars show the warrior had good fortune on his side,
That hopefully he has gained knowledge and wisdom through his pain,
That he knows how fragile life is,
That he must be better with his weapon than his enemy,
Lest the next wound be too deep to scar.
So, most wise and excellent observer,
See the young man's scars.
See them.
He has not a few
But many.
He has seen battle.
And he lives still.
There is knowledge and wisdom in him.
He must be good with his weapon for he would not be alive otherwise.
There is one scar in his back.
The mark of a dagger I would guess.
See how every other scar is on the front of his body.
See!
No, most excellent observer,
He is not the fastest or strongest.
And his appearance does not inspire awe or fear.
But
See!
I'll wager the one that put the scar on his back is no longer of this world,
For here this young man stands!
Mighty is the warrior dealt such a wound,
Who even in his pain turns to face his enemy.
Now do you see, most excellent observer?
Do you see the scars?
YOU STILL DOUBT HIM?
Oh my dear, foolish observer, one more thing must you see.
This young warrior, for a warrior he IS,
Is returning to battle.
Be knows he risks the pain of another scar,
That he might possibly lose his life in this next battle.
Yet he returns
Because it is his to do.
He is a man
And a brave warrior
Who goes back
Who risks the pain
Who faces the fear
To do what he was meant to do.
Is he not fast enough?
Strong enough?
Does he not have the look of a warrior?
Look again!
See how he walks!
There is care in where he steps.
See his glance,
Which takes in the room
Determining friends or foes.
Watch how he carries his sword
Always ready,
But never threatening.
These aren't enough?
You still doubt him?
A scar is a sign of battle.
It marks a wound
And may remind its bearer of sorrow or joy.
One does not acquire these scars through cowardice,
And rarely is the scar desired by its bearer.
But look closely at the warrior scarred,
And marvel how he takes his weapon to continue the war he is called to.
These scars show the warrior had good fortune on his side,
That hopefully he has gained knowledge and wisdom through his pain,
That he knows how fragile life is,
That he must be better with his weapon than his enemy,
Lest the next wound be too deep to scar.
So, most wise and excellent observer,
See the young man's scars.
See them.
He has not a few
But many.
He has seen battle.
And he lives still.
There is knowledge and wisdom in him.
He must be good with his weapon for he would not be alive otherwise.
There is one scar in his back.
The mark of a dagger I would guess.
See how every other scar is on the front of his body.
See!
No, most excellent observer,
He is not the fastest or strongest.
And his appearance does not inspire awe or fear.
But
See!
I'll wager the one that put the scar on his back is no longer of this world,
For here this young man stands!
Mighty is the warrior dealt such a wound,
Who even in his pain turns to face his enemy.
Now do you see, most excellent observer?
Do you see the scars?
YOU STILL DOUBT HIM?
Oh my dear, foolish observer, one more thing must you see.
This young warrior, for a warrior he IS,
Is returning to battle.
Be knows he risks the pain of another scar,
That he might possibly lose his life in this next battle.
Yet he returns
Because it is his to do.
He is a man
And a brave warrior
Who goes back
Who risks the pain
Who faces the fear
To do what he was meant to do.
By Benjamin Beckner
