Joyce Johnson Poet Quatrain

Past My Prime

In honesty I must admit
I’m slipping slowly past my prime.
I hadn’t noticed transformation
Happening to me over time.

Though my memory needed prodding, 
When I forgot an old friend’s name,.
I told myself I hadn’t changed
And still looked very much the same.

But windexing my mirror in
A seizure of fanatic clean,
Took the  forgiving film away,
The hidden changes to unscreen.

I can no longer tell myself
A candid picture of me lies.
I must accept as fact  the face
I had refused to recognize..

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Nancy Jones November 7, 2011 at 6:44 PM k, Joyce... this was everything I expected it to be... which is why I didn't click on it 'til now... am reading "Tuesdays with Morrie" about halfway through, have you ever read it? Thank you for being, I'm real glad I found ya, sweet dreams and namaste~N

Andrea Dietrich November 5, 2011 at 9:30 PM oh,my, this really hits home for those of us starting to see what you mean. But you will never be past your prime in your talent, dear.