Temper's Bow

So quickly we judge the bow that breaks,
but rarely so as it bends and shakes.
It strains and works as it's told to do,
but we never value the stress gone through.

It seems he's a bow that's started to crack,
he bends so far, but always comes back.
he sees the crack and resists the urge
But embracing the crack, let's the anger purge.

He's a soul, I relent, with a spirit stunted.
Everyone's haunted, sometimes they're hunted.
We see the fear but not the fight.
They're a burning candle, but we see light.

Like a broken home with a white picket fence,
or the homeless man that'd rather give two cents,
What we see, you'll see, deceives our mind,
In the end, our eyes, have always lied.

The rage will build, half-drunk, full tilt
there's a fire below but he's on a stilt.
He'll try, in earnest, to tame the soul,
but the fire lashes out from each new hole.

As you stab at the flesh that tries to contain
The holes still grow and unleash the flame.
You'll burn and suffer if the flames get out.
"I deserve none at all" you'll say with doubt.

The man will stand on the fired trail,
and then once again he'll set his sail.
He carries the burden as the string of the bow.
Yet when you draw it back, you'd never know.