Aging Reflections
by Odin Roark

Shaving, old has time to think,
clumsily survive,
cling to rail-anchors in the bath tub
as buoyancy takes on child-like fantasy.
followed by a feather-filled couch,
so nice to sink into,
so painful to rise.

Yesterday's love forgets.

Today's body remembers.

So many pitched tents
atop mountain peaks,
sheltering bodies exhausted,
dealing with pebbles hiding beneath ground cloth,
affections forever indented in sore-back memory.
for now climbing smiles but mementos
afloat within gathering clouds.

Shit.

Miserable mirror on the wall,
who's most feisty of them all?

So solitary,
this fantasy embrace of another kind,
without gentle touch,
without a kiss so missed
while time races forward,
leaving only night-time dreams
readying a possible chance embrace.

Old once knew young,
rising beyond any fear,
above any retreat,
now reduced to staring vacantly
at withered skin
where once climbing scars glittered,
their scar tissue aglow,
now upstaged by blood-thinner bruises.

F***ing table corner.
Leaped out from nowhere

Look at this…ancient life.
It knows reflection's are looking at me,
even as my destiny offers a smile.
my face smiles back.

Because…

Be it a storefront window,
a still-pond of lilies,
or just a plain, no frills, mirror.

There I am. Yeah, there I am.

But, hell, musings always distort.

Don't they?