His face,

Like a scrapbook.

Past years,

Patchwork and visible.

The lines on his face,

Mimic puzzle pieces.

They meld years of pain and ecstasy.

Matured,

Sage strands of grey hair -

Mingle with the onyx.

Hands, so storied and weathered,

Like an old unmaintained brick wall,

Crumbling....yet strong !

Lips...

Capable of speaking words and stories...

Enslaving and captivating my audience.

A patchwork of 50 years I am,

Hardened and yet softened..

Confused yet filled with clarity.

If I were "colored by numbers 1-100 "...

You'd be up to 50.

I'm simply art that has yet to be finished.

A scrapbook that awaits more memories....

A painting that awaits its next hue.

I dare ya to -

Grab a brush.....?