I wear my father’s face.
I have inherited his gaze
his gentle way of seeing.
I wear my mother’s face
but none of her grace
only the delight in her eyes.
I look at them
in young photographs
and see me gazing back
from a time I didn’t exist.
Sometimes I wear
both faces at once
confusing myself
as to who I am.
Sometimes the smile drifts
or the eyes look away
catch a glimpse
of my own face
and for a split second
see me
as I truly am
a Venn Diagram
part of either set
me
the bit
in the middle.
original original original - imitation of Donall is - impossible :) or at least too difficult!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I like your style, and I like your stuff. Your poems are very original and diverse. In tend to read some more Look me up sometime Steve From Over The Irish Sea