The Metaphor of My Face
my face was as s c a r r e d as my soul -
my once silky-smooth skin turned worn and rough,
years of weather bellowed each fiber;
lines curve down my cheeks from laughter,
and spots of age settled above my brow-
(for getting older has its price)
the metaphor of my face became my obsession-
glass never reflected what i hoped,
never gave enough time for wounds to heal;
hope s h a t t e r e d beneath my feet,
the same feet that once gave me freedom...
and i am left staring into
a zenith of stars
fall
ing
as they try to rescue me
~from MY mirror~
like a magnet i was drawn to insecurity
then the crippling fear i finally shook-
the scars mended with peace of mind,
faded into a myriad of self-assurance
~~~~
a w i l t e d face can be renewed;
my skin no longer supple
and
hasn’t been toned for years
but
each line has meaning,
tells an endless tale-
a tale of LOSS
and
a tale of LOVE
______________________________________
Written: 12.22.19
Judged: 1.7.20
N-A rerun 5 Poetry Contest
John Hamilton
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