Age

A shimmer catches my eye;

Gleam of white in a web,

Black as ancient ink. It’s Wisdom,

Experience. Why worry?

And what

If one were born with silver?

You will never be completely the same.

The white spreads like leprosy.

Moving.

A disease, infestation.

Growing.

A horror. A repulsion.

Increasing.

One will pluck at the abnormality.

Receding.

We try to make it disappear.

Decreasing.

It is mutation.

Reducing.

But like a cloud of spores, it will grow.

Before we know it, it will be what we are.

Dissolved.

Some are imprisoned by it all their lives.

Color will disappear and fade.

It does not last and never will.

We are never completely the same.

Pride comes to those who accept.

To carry the mark of white is worth being proud.

Once we earn it, it will never

be robbed of us.