Posted: November 11, 2017 in Uncategorized

Time halts forward momentum
lifelong doubts and resentments catch up
in age we stew a submerged internal roiling
a silent storm beneath the surface of scoured skin.

The choppy waters of our tempestuous lives cannot cleanse these faults
small scars slowly cut into our visage every day we live
our faces map a shifting terrain the canvas an ever-changing portrait
we invent new art become experts at deciphering its meaning.

We become artist and critic subject and observer
lock away precise depictions of our gray moldering features
hang shining images high on marble walls in great halls
at long last become relics our existence sanctified by time.

We must have done something to garner such attention.

  1. Anonymous says:

    ! strong such solid self doubt is surely ourselves.


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