There are stories in lines,
Those hand palm creases,
Prairie trails disappearing,
Receding cloud wisp,
Lines are tomorrow’s fortune
And, the story of the past,
Every face carries its memories,
A bible of life for all to see,
Telling joys and heartache of living,
A newborn baby has no lines,
The long lived old man has many,
In the end, the burden lifted,
When there is nothing more to read,
When that whispering breeze blows,
Those lines soften and disappear,
Swept up with the soul’s flight.
©2012, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
I was stuck in the dentist chair yesterday, with a television overhead repeating a story about a man convicted of some atrocities. His face seemed to have no more story than a baby’s. As if nothing had ever touched him.
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Excellent! I love the idea of reading someone’s past in their wrinkles, Donald. Great poem!
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What a fascinating idea for a poem, Donald! And those varying examples: palms, prairies, clouds – before you get on to faces and their histories. Makes a most intriguing read!
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as i look in the mirror……nice wrinkles….and nice poeme Donald….thanks for sharing your words
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