My Face is My Life
A poem
The face a tattered map, creased and worn.
Crinkles at the corners of the eyes
carved by countless shared laughter,
hard-won smiles that defied the storms.
Fine lines, the etchings of worry’s stylus
furrowing the brow like freeways on a roadmap,
each crease a memory, a battle fought
that shaped the landscape we call self.
Golden flecks freckled across the canvas,
innocent at first, gained their hue from the sun
until age deepened their ancient patina,
burnished reminders of long summers and sparkling days.
This face bears Earth’s wisdom on its terrain,
every line a river’s course through ravaged lands,
every spot a peak reached, or field lying fallow,
every wrinkle a scar that helped shape this life.
No flawless country of youth here,
but a territory fully explored, inhabited,
each etched story adding to the rugged beauty
of topography built from the material of years.
This visage mirrors the ever-changing earth,
shifting, eroding, moving in its perpetual dance,
with light and time as the brushes sculpting
the timeless portrait of a life embodied, embraced.
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