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