I wrote this poem last week and revised it this morning:
The Theory of the Beautiful
The spider webs of fine wrinkles
start on the grin lines
like the orb weaver’s designs
wait to catch a gnat
or a mosquito
or at least a wince
or a wink.
I grip the skin
as I look at
sutures on my neck from
excision of a defect
from too much sun
in my youth.
The stock of available reality
goes down.
I’m a prisoner of time.
Hedge something around it,
I tell myself. How about
a hedge of hew
a word that looks like sew
on the page,
But sounds like a color.
( photo of Eunice Kennedy Shriver, who died at age 88)
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aesthetic/”>Aesthetic</a>
<a href="https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/aesthetic/">Aesthetic</a>
A wonderful, touching poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
great poem; gorgeous photo.
LikeLiked by 1 person
across our faces stretch maps of life….
LikeLiked by 1 person