Weathered

Weathered

Life had weathered his skin

Drawn lines 

Creased at the corner of his eyes and 'cross his forehead 

His age

An irrelevant number 

40 or 90

It meant nothing to His story

His eyes

Sometimes dimmed

Or aflame

Every days' storms worn on his face

Not the boy he had been

But a man

He knew himself

What was his was owned by his heart

And those around him

Lives better for his presence

By all that made him

Loved and protected he'd given himself for them

Not emptied 

More full because of them

Yes he was weathered

But there was life in him growing and still taking root

And changing the world

©johnfklee