The camera shot me as I am
And not as I had been –
Was like the grass in time of drought
Before rain turned it green.
The bird appeared to be my friend
Before he fell on me
The ocean was azure blue –
Dirt floated to the sea.
As I recounted photos, past,
I watched my face despair
As supple texture fell away,
Another face was there.
I was told that age wearies you
And that the years condemn –
Like the garden’s face in winter –
Wilting from the stem.
The weeds protrude the courtyard –
Then cut down to size –
Yet they’ll grow back another day
And warrant no surprise.
Oh, mirror, mirror, on the wall
Can you estimate?
What is my final destiny?
Can you see it in my face?
Your face is like the weather –
Happy when it’s fine
And sometimes like the river’s depth
That changes with the tide.
The weather may bring thunderstorm –
A danger to your home
Like a budding flower after summer
With odorous cologne.
Your face is like a mountain –
Atop the valley and the stream
A mountain has the wherewithal
Of having seen that scene.
Your face can be a darkened cloud
After rain, the storm
Or it can be a strange facade
That may disguise that storm.
Your face may be a troubadour –
Excitement was his name
It may well be off cue sometimes
Finding lust not fame.
It may be like an artefact –
A manufactured work of art
Or a newly fashioned painter
A classic, from the start.
Your face is like a shallow creek –
A trickle, or some more
And it may hide a saving grace
It stores in soul, galore.
It hides behind the corner, shy
Proving times, diverse
And suffers in its solitude
And writes poetic verse.
Yet it never sends a sour note
It cannot bear to shame
It always, always, tries its best
And fears its sweet refrain.
Your face may rise above itself
Or fall below the sea
But never, never, will it groan
And swear obscenity.
It values what it offers
And what it has to glean
So it worships splendour in this life
And deserts a squalid scene.
Your face cares for the children
Adults, it takes to court
And when father time calls its name
It renders for the sort
Of character a face can tell –
Yet rarely seen by you
But when it leaps to take control
It begins your life, anew.
sensualism 