Time is sketching new lines,
Deeper wrinkles on my face…
The colored hues are fading,
The grey tones are in place.
Life is an evolving artist,
Changing as the years take wing…
Forcing us to see our truths,
Time will not embellish anything.
My face illustrates a novel,
Longing so much to be read…
Untold tales behind the eyes,
Sagas of the lives I’ve led.
You are not only a poet, but also an artist. How cool is that!!!
ReplyDeleteIt must be fascinating to be able to see your own face. Could you see it before you drew it? I keep wondering as I read these poems: Could you see your life before you recorded it?
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