May I be so bold to claim
The dim lighting brewed bean smell
That wrinkles in our faces hold it all
The secret that formed constructs of religion
The fettered wiggle free from grudges rope
That with time and space
The wrinkles again
Which held for years await
The darker deeper crests of weight and trial
To the touch, softer than spikes recalled
And from demon eyes
Rose human life in every form
From malice, resentment, indignation
A child soldier
From remorse, negligence, solitude
Widows of war
From joy despite the soreness and ache
The aged and illiterate
The wrinkles, which examined closely enough
Peer into the heart
The identity, though perceived at a time
A monster as relentless as time itself
Now only and simply a human form
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