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Poem

Face Maps 

How often we ponder 
The portrait of life, 
Some without a face, 
Some with but war as a canvas. 

The experienced face 
Reveals folds above eyes, 
Disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness, 
Yet reliable as an infrequent desert storm. 

For amidst nature’s wisdom 
Directional signs are forever available, 
Even though some may be 
Subtle and wanting to hide.
 
Still, 
Few pay attention. 

Perfection makes no judgment, 
Even as history is difficult to cover up 
When presented by a face 
That has obviously seen 
More than most of us 
Can dream of. 

Archiving such potential realities 
Begs the opening of discovery, 
Often challenging one’s patience, 
While the forever-our-partner in waiting 
Smiles back sagaciously, 
Wanting only to be part of one’s smile. 

The face 

What was,
What is.

Such might attract 
Veracious seekers of life, 
Accepting their journey 
As the worth of engaging years, 
Infused with honesty, 
Allowing chiseled erosion 
To live forever in the eye’s mind 
For those who might also 
Wish to perceive relief’s valleys. 
Mountains,
And tearless tributaries of the face. 

Projecting the wonder, 
Life, 
Peace, 
Waiting for the next iteration, 
Remains a journal of the spirit .
Some will fortunately 
Embrace with understanding, 
Knowing weathered landscape
Is but captured wind and weather, 
Mind and soul, 
Body and suffering, 
Wanting only to remain 
Without airbrush deceit.
 
As is, 
As was, 
As always to be.

Yet… 

Others 
Will address 
One’s life map of travels 
With fearful retreat, 
Hiding in the shadows of delusion

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