(Our own reality is often starved
for our acceptance and love.)
He stares at him:
the man in the mirror–
the face indelibly marked
by time’s unrelenting crusade:
crown sparsely feathered;
beard coarse and grizzled;
brows sprouting feelers,
defiant and brash.
Their eyes lock for a moment
in the silence that grieves;
but still he resists concession,
still he withholds
the compassionate nod.
© 2009 Dennis Ference
Beautiful and extremely insightful. Maturing in age has a way of peeling back the layer of life.
Your thoughtful comment is much appreciated. Peace! –Dennis
Loved this piece.
I’m so glad. Peace!
Wise, sensitive writing, Dennis, and very touching.
i love “crown sparsely feathered” and “brows sprouting feelers,…”
great visuals there and ones i can identify with totally.
Your comments always mirror the fine wine of conscious aging. Thank you. Dennis
Deep thoughts, strong emotions, and so effective words. Simply beautiful!:)
Thank you for your encouraging comment. Comments like yours help to spark my imagination. Peace. –Dennis
Beautiful images. brows sprouting feelers – what a poetic description. The entire poem captures poignantly that tipping point in life we all push right up to, but back away from – staying isolated and frustrated. It really is a dance. Well done.
Jennifer, thanks for taking the time for your thoughtful comment. Peace. –Dennis
Reblogged this on Window Poetry.
A thought provoking moment in poetry – well done
I’ve always thought… for every grey hair, every wrinkle, every ache… I’ve earned. I own them. So be proud 🙂 and compassionate… Love the poignant words…
Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for taking the time to comment. Peace. –Dennis
The tonal control in this poem is a perfect reflection of those sort of Prufrock-ian moments when bemusement hides quiet desperation. Wonderful.
Thanks for taking the time to comment, David.
Good work. You express so well the surprising confrontation between how we come to look as we age and the person we know as myself.