Shattered Illusions

At three-score years, ten - and more
suddenly all those shallow illusions of
defying the years have dissipated,
collapsed, vanished, to reflect the
reality of presence as it is, not as
cherished facade. Never shy about
divulging my age, accustomed to
hearing the inevitable, gratifying
expressions of disbelief, for me
vanity had always seemed to triumph.

A busy, rewarding, sometimes
troubling few years of celebrating
life, occupying ourselves collaboratively,
coping with exterior assaults on health
and equanimity, complacency still
reigned, leaving scant time for
contemplating the passing years.

For they do pass, slipping from the
present to faded memory of times past,
seeking no one's assent. Then, a series
of spontaneous frontal close-ups with a
discreetly-used digital camera which
later viewing offended with its grotesque
and ego-assaulting verisimilitude.

Gaze fixed on the computer screen, one
image following on the other of a ghastly
parchment-furrowed face burdened with
years of concern, the inclination to smile
forgotten. Those faded eyes once deeply dark
and lively, now shallow pools over deep ponds
of forgotten distress. Below the entrenched
folds, taut, thin lips, sagging chin topped by
lifeless grey hair. Whose is that pained visage?