"Painted Faces" - Poem by Evan James

Painted Faces

Each morning I wake—
To a bucket of paint

Beside my bedside
Where it has lain all night.

From heavenly slumber,
My body emerges,

And thus sound
The ominous dirges

For the death of myself.
The bucket mocks from the shelf.

And I reach for a brush,
With no care for the shade,

And splash its contents
Soft on my face—

Some days a flaming Crimson,
On others ocean blues,

Some days the joy of sunrise,
Or the brown of a noose.

This is the fate of my face,
For the world lacks grace.

I must hide who I am.
They will never understand.

Check out some of my other work! And check out who I am!

• A Few Thoughts on Age
• Adam and Eve
• The Human Calamity
• Elixir of Youth

^{Photo Credit: Free-Photos}