How the Face grows Old

How the Face grows Old,

with jaded thoughts of the mind;

from weary depths of one's soul.

But oh, the heart, the heart remains

unconscious,

of the etchings numerous grown;

of the burden daily multiplied;

of

the passing Time.

And the concsciousness moves on

nary a hindrance or a thought

to the loss of Youth.

Until a face reflected,

a light that shining back -

a passing window to show

How the Face has grown Old.

~ st*rcr*ss*d ~