Wrinkles

The ferocity

Velocity

A flash

A bang

The light

Begin again

And again

No start

No end

Growing but still

Still but not static

Rather, dynamic,

Expectant

Extraordinary

Yet simple addition

Years added on

One life

Leads to the end of the body

Wrinkles on the face

A brow of discernment

Yet what of

The soul

The old soul some say

A youthful face

But old, outside of time and space

A soul

With wrinkles

Seems odd to perceive

Such an experience

Impossible to believe

Wrinkles on the body

Show the weathered nature

The worn-down façade

The torn down veil

Death is just beyond

Though just a dust death

Matter changes

A soul is not matter

So, death is of no matter

To the soul

Another movement

Another aria

An opus of every crescendo

A da capo of sorts

This symphony of life

The life of a soul

Cherished

But does not diminish

The value of the body,

Rather, giving emphasis

Emphasis to the now

To the here

The moment

For each fleeting moment

Is a wrinkle on the soul

And thus

When a soul is wrinkled so,

It stretches, expands,

Becomes more with what it has gathered

Never ending

This soul,

This, essence,

Not to be taken lightly

Not to be taken seriously

Rather, merely taken

Accepted,

Believed,

Composed,

Discovered,

Explored

The wizened soul

Wrinkled so

Is unseen by most

Except by another

So wrinkled