a face i wore before
now put upon a shelf
uncertain bare self
raw and scrubbed clear of
façades once dear to me
i scribble, unknowing
becoming senseless with age
forget i once claimed to write
what i spill to ink
has become mystery
reach for the pullchain, please,
and turn out the light
Hmm, Michael.. Still thinking about this one! This holds such truth. We all wear faces for a time, and when they’re set aside, what’s left can feel raw but also real. Mystery in the ink isn’t failure, it’s life speaking in a deeper tongue. Sometimes turning out the light is just the beginning of seeing differently🧡
Thanks for your thoughts. 💙
It’s quite nice not having to wear any masques, if only for short spells. Embracing unknowing…
No masks needed anymore when we’re going into the dark. Theme of the week? 🙂
Perhaps. Unconscious theme. Or simply muddled thinking. 😅
A meaningful piece, whatever the thinking behind it. Have a good week. 🙂
Thanks, Laura. You have a good week as well.
Really like this piece, Michael. Different faces for different places.
Question: with age to we lose connection to our true face?
Seems most likely about the time we have left the womb.
Probably true.
Truly a thought provoking piece, Michael. Well done!
🙌🏽
Thank you!🙏🏼
Welcome! 🤗
loved your poem, Michael~!
💓
Thanks 🙂
You betcha! 🙌🏽
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