Face

It's the face.
I would say it pure
As the face of the moon 
Were it not from being 
All too human.

It's the kind of face 
I can fall in love with,
Grief stricken by age---- 
Further away from 
Being nieve, as I am.

The face of wisdom, perhaps?
Face of being brave.
Face in the mirror other 
Than my own to look at.
You'll find the voice hasn't changed.

Doesn't waver 
As mine would set with 
Soul eyes pasted down 
From your mother.
A good face 

To face the world with.
You'll find people react 
To a face
I pencil into a notebook.
And I'm always thinking 

About it, the way 
It would close it's eyes 
In a bed at night time.
Those soul eyes again,
I can't get away from.