The Face Of A Living Ancestor Poem by Mark Heathcote

The face of a living ancestor
Can be as old as time
Therefore is there any real wonder
Some stand in summertime

Querying how it must have once been
Gawking, from; terraces
At their own, prime time malevolence's
Oh, younger, journeymen.

How many nomadic, advances
Have you, witnessed akin…
Haven't seen? In our starry, canvas
Oh, where do I begin?

How much dull evil indifference
Smiled and lined tender skin
How many young died still timorous?
Filled with discontent, grin.

Old lady, you buried petulance
It's acceptance, being
Your life is a monument once-
Timeless, somehow still has its momentousness.