Wrinkles- Poetry Competition Revised (Please give feedback!!)
Cold walls.
An old leather couch.
Marker paintings scrawled across the walls.
Laughter flitting the air.
Wires sizzling under the western sun,
and a cold blanket hugging the dirt when the world spins into the cold months.
These memories drift like a feather in the vast expanse of my mind,
gathered up into the wrinkles that decorate my body like a cruel makeup.
Ghosts of my family drift around me,
giggling as they look at my face;
weathered from years spent alone,
and the wisdom that seeped into my skin.
Today the sun graces the sky with it's presence,
and my body bows under the burden of age,
swaying in tandem with nature's quiet song.
My joints strain with dotage,
yet I bare on,
singing the lyrics of long cold nights and pain everlasting.
They say that wrinkles are wisdom clustered into our skin,
and knowledge of the world soaks our faces,
gathered into folds.
I am the quiet voice that agrees,
the scar that tells the truth of love.
The old ballad that is never sung,
yet everyone knows the tune.
For I am as old as a knotted oak,
quietly murmuring the silent tune of knowledge.
Leave me as one always does.
Take my hand and drop me into the deep.
I cannot fight anymore.
For this is history;
a timeline that has been repeated many a time.
Take my body and snap my bones,
scrape my marrow and chase the broken dawn.
Find the dream you yearn for and watch it pack it's bags and fade to delusion.
So sail your shallow ocean of light and leave me;
the still pond of secrets you lack the depth to sail;
in your memory.
T