I can see the lines in my eyes,
the weary kindness that arrives
when wisdom starts to set in.
I am lopsided inside them
both welcomed and warned.
I know their stories, the
silent memories
living inside the creases.
I am smiling in the mirror,
Counting the crow’s feet.
Where beneath the surface
Lives a twenty something.
Outside the signs of age have
Come to reside and will I
Abide by their rules?
Will I make exceptions
For their entrance?
I emphatically resist.
It is certain that I have
Accepted these moments
At least I am convinced.
I churn the warm milk of
My memories undecided of
Whether to release them,
Lighted candles set on wood
To float the seas of time.
Still, as I press coldness against
My puffed lids, melting away
The swollen, worried night dreams,
I resign an occasion of my early
Ages, short year span empty of
Memories, and my foot does not
Move forward.
It is stuck in missing time.
If my smile lines could speak
All of the words my tongue refrained,
Out would flow a myriad of madness,
Mistakes and mayhem, echoed by
The creaking of my ever aching flesh.
I can see the lines in my eyes,
Filled with rivers of my cries,
Leading to an ocean of doubt
Settling inside my warm mouth.
(by Vennie)
copyright @ DBV Publishing 2009
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