My Father's Face
From somewhere far beneath,
My father's face is rising to replace my own.
Each year the brightly silvered surface of my mirror
Reveals some other common feature
Pushing its way to the fore.
The silver of the years finds its way
Into the hair retreating at the same rate;
Years marching forward as the hairline marches back
In lockstep time. What's left shines
With the wintry distinction of age.
Whose eyes are these that now look out
From beneath my brow? Are these the eyes that watched my child in sleep,
Or now those elder eyes that watched over me so long ago?
What self is that at rest behind my silvered temples,
That rests its thoughts so heavy on these things?
Photos of the two of us together
Show the kinship of expression
The matching etchings of experience
That leave no doubt
As to the common blood by which we're bound.
I can no longer view myself
Without his presence being there as well;
Moreover, the image of his father
Shows the like upwellings in him.
The visage of the man who came before
The three of us I've never seen;
But I deem it probable there was little difference,
So back this face we share may go, ad infinitum.
Every face is a story
Of the life and its ways that shaped it.
This being so, I cannot help but feel ennobled
By the lines and lessons which have been passed to me.
This is the face I shall carry
From now to the end of my days.
My I tend it, and wear it, well.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
