Life’s Ever-Changing Face
by Odin Roark

How often we ponder
the portrait of life.
Some with little face left,
some with but war as a canvas.

Such a face
reveals folds above eyes,
disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness,
yet reliable as frequent desert storms.

For amidst nature’s wisdom,
directional signs are forever available,
even though some may be subtle and wanting to hide.

Still,
few pay attention.

Perfection makes no judgment,
even as history is difficult to cover up
when presented by a face
that has obviously seen
more than most of use
can dream of.

Archiving such potential realities
begs the opening of discovery,
often challenging one’s patience,
the forever-our-partner in waiting,
smiling back sagaciously,
wanting only to be part of one’s own smile.

The face…

What was,
what is,
what might attract.
all voracious seekers of life,
accepting their journey
as the worth of engaging years
infused with honesty,
allowing chiseled sculpture
to live forever in the eye’s mind
of those wishing to perceive
beyond the face.

Projecting the wonder,
life,
peace,
waiting for the next iteration,
remains a journal of the spirit.

Some will fortunately
encompass with understanding,
knowing weathered skin
is but captured wind and weather,
the unearthing of mind and soul,
body and suffering,
wanting only to remain
without airbrush deceit.

A canvas as is,
as was,
and now will always be.

Unfortunately…

Others will address
one’s life map of travels
with fearful retreat,
imagining a mirror of delusion.