Scars of knowledge furrow her skin
like scales on a dragon’s wing,
toughened by centuries of living.
When she speaks,
years of lessons,
no louder than a whisper,
traverse from mind to tongue.
Words, drowned
in the fragrance of wisdom,
saunter through the air
with humility like
some sort of timeless spirit
conjured up from
unblemished optimism.
She’d scroll through her
mental book of morals,
regurgitating virtuous stories
as if she were a professor of life.
And, in a sense, she was.
But, like a young bird
understanding flight,
a young mind can’t
conceptually grasp wisdom
until its been thrown from
the safe haven of its’ nest
and is falling at cataclysmic speeds.
There’s a point,
during the dissension,
that instincts kick in.
Now,
as I’ve come to age,
they’ve taken on new meanings,
perfectly coinciding with now.
She just wanted
these lessons to seep
through the thick skull God’s cursed
her grandson’s everyday with.
And, hoped that the cracks
that painted her guise
could strengthen his character.
More at http://www.about.me/C.Hemsley.