Will you. . . ?
When my skin wears the markings
of my days and the lines of my nights
etched upon my face in a constellation
of battles won and wars lost.
When my hair is peppered with storms
meant to crush and dances meant to
drown. Leaving a trail of suffocated
colour, speckled through my timeline.
When my essence is muted grey in a
room full of rainbows arching to
perfection as I stumble to stand but
manage only to fall… Will you?
Yes, when life is tattooed across your skin
in the distant echoes of battles, knights and Kings,
Yes, when age holds you within its grasp,
hair disappearing rapidly fast.
Yes, when our minds are a riddle
of yesteryears, lost thoughts and a need to tiddle,
Yes, when presence is historical in fresh blooms
among young meat in crowded rooms…
And suddenly I understand the depth of ‘of course’
the reason behind loves universal laws
We are all of our good bits, all of our flaws,
And age is the key to a souls longing need,
together we’ll blossom, starting from seed.
Karen Hayward ©2018
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