One more from Sting before I sleep. This one hits painfully close. When a man of my age shaves his face in the morning, Who is it that stares back and greets him? The ghost of his father long dead all these years? Or the boy that he was, still wet in the ears? Or the terrible sum of all of his fears, In the eyes of this stranger who meets him? So his glance rarely strays from his chin or his jawline, To face up to the truth of his soul, It’s the eyes he avoids so afraid to acknowledge, Something strange, unexpected, out of control. There are times when a man needs to brave his reflection, And face what he sees without fear, It takes a man to accept his mortality, Or be surprised by the presence of a tear.
Posted on: Mon, 15 Dec 2014 05:08:40 +0000
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