In youth, I sought perfection
Resolving that beauty is smooth, unmarked skin
That a flawless face and perfect hair is how to obtain
The thing I long for most, affection
And so, to live without fault became my bane
Desperate to maintain a youthful hue
I devoted my wealth, time, and dreams to
The art of a rosy complexion
But as one year turned into another
My definition of beauty only served to smother
Only now do I see the err of my ways
There’s no such thing as perfection
The facade I made was only projection
Why try to avoid our numbered days?
Instead, I want to be someone lived in.
A breathing map of the places I’ve been
Life is written on a body, in lines and creases,
In wrinkles lie the remnants of labor and toil
A wisdom that even Time can’t spoil
In the crinkles of a smile, I see laughter's echo,
In the furrows of the brow, the worries below.
This is beauty money can’t buy, it never ceases
Each crevice tells a tale of nights endured,
Of fears confronted, of joys assured.
There is no tale etched into an infant,
No sunspots or spider veins,
Yet on such things beauty isn’t contingent
They live a life void of life’s strains
But rather than perfection, I see a blank slate
In the absence of line, they remain incomplete
Their story unfinished, ignorant and young,
Children are a masterpiece in the making,
Yes, in old age, I admire those like me,
In Time’s gentle caresses there is beauty to see,
Scars earned through blood sweat and tears,
A testament to survival, a conquest of years,
Weathered and worn, eyes unbroken, still bright
Despite years of endless plight,
That is true beauty, the perfection I seek,
The artwork formed in nary the weak.
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Lou.Summers 