The Face Across

I see an old and battered face sitting here before me. A face that I have grown to love as equally as hate. I see the lines that make it so, the wear of life unjust.

The eyes I see are without light, though in light they are illuminated. The wrinkles are not those of joy. The smile not of happiness.

Bloodshot in a sea of blue, a reflection of harsh reality. The image I see is true and pure, framed by love and beauty. But never is an image true, no frame imparts its life.

For the face I see knows many lives. All but one without you. And on that face, he bares his scars. His eyes reflect without the light.

Look you not away from me. I offer only your reflection.