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!