Faces

Occasionally,

Very
occasionally

We are given the chance to
see

The real face behind

The ones
we have created
for

Ourselves.

The
fledgling face.

Raw and naked.

So
vulnerable

That we hide it away

And
try to protect it from

The rest of the
world.

And then, one day, it
happens:

A chance meeting in a
bar,

A flash of recognition,

And
the sense that something

Special is being
exchanged

Without
words.

But all too soon the
moment's gone,

Or we spoil it by trying to
impress

With our many other
faces,

Little realising that
something

Precious has been lost

Beneath our
hands.

We walk
away,

Disappointed.

Wondering what
it was

We thought we had found.

And
all the while our real faces

Call out to each other
in regret,

Knowing what a pity it
is

That we never had the courage

To
let those fledglings

Learn to fly...