Face of mine, yet unlined, by age and time.
No pain, no passion, to feel or agonize.
A frozen flower never truly dies.
Smile pretty friend, still held still, still sublime.
Clear dead mirror, ironic paradigm.
Whispers of rumors of the dead and wise.
To meet a young demise, a sad surprise.
looking past my prime, looking for more time.
For the young watch the old, behold, beware.
For beauty fades, tides twist, tilt and turn.
Lamented passion caught with love to spare.
Youth remains where the sun can't shine to burn.
Nothing changes when it can't touch the air.
To freeze is to die, but for youth we yearn.
~ Daisy Red
YOU ARE READING
Becoming Pretty
PoetrySometimes my mind feels like a liquid, and it takes all of my strength so keep it from slipping down the drain. Sometimes it throbs like a a broken bone. Often, my poor brain pulls me in every direction like 1'000 marbles cascading down a flight of...
