Saving Face
How often we ponder
The portrait of life
Some without a face
Some with but war as a canvas
Such a face
Reveals folds above eyes
Disengaged as a draught-laden wilderness
Yet reliable as an infrequent mountain hurricane
For amidst nature’s wisdom
Directional signs are forever available
Even though some may be
Subtle and wanting to hide
Still…
Few pay attention
Truth makes no judgment
Even as history is difficult to cover up
When presented by a face
That has obviously seen
More than most of us
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 sagacity so anxious
Wanting only to be part of
Our own smile of contentment
The face
What was
What is
What might attract
Voracious seekers of life
Accepting their journey
As the worth of engaging years
Infused with respect for Nature and honesty
Allowing chiseled sculpture
To live forever in the eye’s mind
Of those who might also
Wish to perceive beyond the face
Projecting the wonder
Life
Peace
Waiting for the next iteration
Remains a journal of the spirit
Some will fortunately
Embrace with understanding
Knowing weathered skin
Is but captured wind and weather
Mind and soul
Body and suffering
Such a face…
Wanting only to remain
Without airbrush deceit
As is
As was
As will always be
While others
Will address
One’s life map of travels
With fearful retreat
Wanting still the shadows of delusion
Making their appointment for facial alterations
Saving that hiding kind of face
Still he stares nobly
Wondering why
We can’t save face
Saving face for our ancestors transgressions, is difficult. But we are giving freely and Indian run casinos.
When reaching the Canadian border on my Explorer Scout canoe trip, there were two local Canadian gentlemen there that were as weathered as your picture. They showed a lot of skin. We didn't, because the mosquitoes were so bad. I had my long sleeve shirt buttoned down to keep them out, but counted over 100 mosquito bites on the back of each of my hands. I surmised that those guys, with that weathered thick skin, were not bothered by the mosquitoes at all. One advantage we palefaces didn't have. ;-)
Ron
Love ya!
Jane