Blemished

Dear lord, how you’ve aged and so
disproportionately ..
Like old rope, empty oyster shells
and cold lava flows ..
You remind me so much, of the very
first blush, on the cheek
of an otherwise, perfect cut red rose,
bleeding out, yet while
drowning amid, silent death throes ..
Yes it was then, I took note
while sipping from some discarded
champagne flute
that blush, after all, was nowt but
a bruise and nothing
at all on this planet of ours lasts long
and nor is it perfect ..