Creativity’s Masks
Making the face we get
starts with amoretto cheeks
beneath storybook eyes,
silken strands draped across the brow,
curious noses,
innocent lips.
Upon canvases so pure
strokes the brush of time,
dips into the palette of reality,
layering change upon change.
Colors…
Some untainted,
others muddy.
Drying.
Cracking.
Flaking.
Reality begs,
what of these faces?
Perhaps…
One’s personal artwork
now retired to Life’s attic,
propped up on walls that shelter memories,
when faces knew not mirrors,
expressions were for their own sake,
and manufactured masks were only reserved for make-believe.
Yet…
There may be no end to a poet’s mercurial masking?
Love ya!
Jane
On the other hand, the reality of what you wrote about how the face of everyone changes, some drastically as we age, creating some kind of mask of our countenances that we have never seen before.
Ron