A Metaphor For My Face....

i pass by the wall
where a picture of
a face is hung,

something that i
cannot just pass
through towards
the door and not
look back at it
again

just a few seconds
i tell myself
i touch the face again
and sigh

it is mine
it was a face then
when i was at your
young age

i was reckless
in that one
it was a set of
wasted eyes
of luscious lips
that took so many
kisses
and let go
all not keeping
one

i leave the picture now
another time wasted
on such a beautiful face
as mine

i must go
to places then
where all mirrors
are broken

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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