While my timeworn spirit beleaguers youthful fantasies,
Weathered countenance makes known age-old poetry,
Written in essence gathered among sweeping galaxies
Which rest on nameless peaks in far-away high country.
Crow’s feet bespeak my soul, its quest of pure existence,
Its journey to the beginning down untold strands of time,
Its journey on paths of temptation and fateful resistance
To its divine nature marked by shifts in moral paradigm.
Much as deepest furrows on said face betray heartbreak,
Pain disguised by stoic mien and misconceived reason
About love lost, fathomless grief or anguish of mistake,
They speak of strength, ‘cause every woe has its season.
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| El Llanero Viejo (Self-Portrait) |
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