The mirror sketches the rivers' descent,
cheekbones holding valleys that weep time.
Each line, a trail carved by laughter,
furrows that echo a mother’s sigh.
The scar above my brow, crossed timber—
a childhood tree I fell from once.
My lips, soft creeks eroded by silence,
press closed like gates against their ache.
Across my forehead, continents rise, shift,
moments tectonic in heat and regret.
Eyes pull tides, a universe they've weathered,
their gaze laden with moons of longing.
The jaw bends under pressure, love's weight,
its hinge a battlefield of clenched years.
Every pore whispers of wind and journeys,
a cartographer drawing breath in flesh.
This skin of mine holds braided highways,
life's map etched deep upon its terrain.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: July 30th, 2025 10:35
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- Users favorite of this poem: Thomas W Case
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Comments4
A physical map etched in flesh. Our faces tell of our journeys. Nicely written Gray
Thanks Soren for sharing your feedback brother
Most welcome
Superb work, my friend.
Thank You brother I always appreciate your feedback and support
A lovely write, reminds me of my grandad, a face that told a thousand stories, so lived in, enjoyed the read
Thanks for sharing your feedback on my work
You are very welcome
great write
Thanks Norman I appreciate your feedback
most welcome, thoroughly enjoyed the read
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