“Mole”

The lines on his face
Were deep as the sea
created from stress
for the whole world to be
witnessing how age took hold
and could harm
manifestations of previous calm
youth rose before him
a porcelain light
soft held aloft in the silk of the night
lips little waves in a new dawn of blue
hair going grey of an innocent hue
the lines on his face
were accomplished and deep
would the child from the depths
ever comfortably sleep

would the child ever dream
would the child ever be
beside this old fool
finding infinity
the lines on the face
the prolapse of the soul
the cheek flushed and fresh
behold there’s a mole
On the face of the child
wrapped in swaddling there
What stress did it have
it just doesn’t seem fair