The Face Of Guilt...
he looks at himself intently like
he were a stranger,
trying to find out how time, they say,
distorts the personal truths in each of us,
his face is square, used to be, but it looks like
a triangle now, tip extended like a boat on sail,
his lips from reddish cherry have turned into
gray, heavy clouds,
his beard has grown into a forest attracting
monkeys and birds, and so is his hair unwed to chaos
before but lives with such a confused mistress,
his eyelids droop heavy with problems,
his eyelashes do not have the waves of the pacific,
his chin the arrow before has become the
bow,
he looks at his eyes with veins like craters of the moon,
and asks: why did he ever do such a mess?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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