It starts in designer jeans,
somewhere around puberty
and ends in depends
and a wheelchair.

It's a holier
than thou attitude,
in the pristine skin
granted by God.

But time erases
its lovely countenance,
and soon the

parchment of our faces
hold the lines
that recite
our final poem.

It has killed many
from Cleopatra
to Marilyn Monroe,
when the realization
of its fragility
cuts far too deep.

It is a thin membrane
hiding the fact that
we are simply
skeletons dressed
in fine flesh.

It takes a large
dose of humble
to accept our mortality
and then ourselves
for what we really are,
temporary decorations
in a disintegrating world.

Abandon the mirror
and study the faces
of those who
were not blessed
with the vanities of life,
You will find your
true reflection there.


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