Every four years, the mark appears,
And so begins the curse.
All year long, feel I’m too far gone,
And for a year things can’t get worse.
I’m marked for life, scars come to sight,
The mark haunts and will not let me be...

The mark of the loser,
Scars come to sight.
The mark upon my brow,
Marks another time to fight.
The dread of the image,
Brands itself on my brow.
The mark of the loser,
No hope for me now...

Mark of failure, the sign of destiny,
No last glimpse of happiness when the flaw is all I see.
The dream leaves for a while,
It’s sad when you see.
For a year all your fears,
Torment ceaselessly,
Another sigh of the times.
The scar upon your brow,
The mark of the loser,
No help for you now...

©1994, Laura Chambers-Wright. All rights reserved. This poem, or any part therein, may not be copied or transmitted by any means without prior written consent from the author.