our painted faces,
our painted names,
our painted hearts?
Aging it will fold,
the paint will wrinkle
the name forgotten,
and what of the heart?
The painter once became,
and was
Once he would grow,
and age
to include the young
without jealousy,
He would relish the past,
not resent.
Restoring the paint,
to liven the death,
to uplift the old,
to fix that which is,
Onto the Canvas,
our painted names,
our painted faces,
our painted hearts.
1 comment:
Looking back i can see a divide in how people think in terms of values and it's quite frightening. Why is there such an emphasis put on aestheticism, particularly in terms of physical beauty of oneself, in this day and age?
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