Restoration
He chips, he adds, he prolongs,
the dust from years past
blows away, blows into the nether
world of reality. Reality is! Everything
must go through the decaying and, slow aging
process. It catches up with us all!
As I look into the mirror - another line;
another truth, etches its way onto my flesh
my slowly decaying flesh of life.
He has to chip slowly at the wall
It is delicate! Must be handled with -
extreme care. The dust catches his breath
he coughs, then stops and surveys his work
I stay a while checking my skin
my reflection now making me sigh.
Whatever? I check my teeth. Shrug
and then just brush the moments, the
thoughts away, but I never get it all
Not with just a brush!
He uses a mortar and pestle
and a special, delicate kind of brush.
His day is over – my life goes on
as usual!
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