What Counts
Deep furrows on this aged brow
placed thus by pure concern;
for all I've loved and fretted over,
each wrinkle placed in turn.
Lips' corners creased with smiles and grins,
shared joys and private jokes.
The top lip, finely lined, it seems,
from years of puffing smokes.
A mole or two and some removed,
acne scar upon my chin;
external signs that matter not
for what counts lies within.
But eyes tell the truth of the matter,
reflecting the heart and the mood.
Windows to the soul, the heart, the mind,
flash in anger at folks being rude.
My eyes tell the truth of my feelings;
my face is an open book.
You will recognise my emotions
just by taking the briefest look.
Pain registers there, fleeting
as do worry, joy and sorrow.
But I'll wake up feeling differently,
a new face for each tomorrow.
No artifice of plaster or paint
to make this woman what she ain't.
By cherryk
© 2009 cherryk
(All rights reserved)
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