Sometimes the light of day hurts our eyes,
In truth, the wrinkles to disguise.

Sometimes we look in the mirror to see,
The youth, which only lives in our memory.

Sometimes we see our bare, withered skin,
And we pour ourselves another gin.

Sometimes we revive our fading charms,
In a young man’s arms.

Sometimes the refuge that we find,
Is in the dark twisting alleys of the mind.

© 2011, 2016 Lusha Hood

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