I look into the mirror and what is it that I see?
My own familiar face stares intently back at me.
He never has a word or two original to say;
He smiles at me, I smile back – perhaps the other way?
My only true companion from the cradle to the grave,
His subtle metamorphosis unnoticed day by day.
Precisely how I’m feeling, he always seems to know,
In wordless ways revealing what perhaps I wouldn’t show.
Though my voice is an assistance, it’s my face that people know.
Without my face, a faceless man, I’d freely come and go.
An image of my face is in my memory perceived
But as it’s ever-changing, could my memory be deceived?
Go beyond the superficial and it’s clear there’s something more:
Of my fifty years of history, my face is now the store.
I see recorded years of smiles, of laughter and of tears.
The bags beneath my drooping eyes speak volumes of my fears.
Unseen, a gentle artist of unparalleled skill
Etches in slowly life’s sorrow and thrill.
A constantly evolving, living masterpiece of grace
Taken for granted, right there on your face.
28 June 2014