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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