Self-Portrait (Poetry)

I knew that neither brush nor lens
would choose to focus kind
vague likeness in the mirror failed
to see what charms the mind

It wishes sagging contours gone
imagination smoothes
the creases as an iron does
each passing stroke renews

Pure vanity — insanity
each face is born to age
truth-painters or photographers
don’t pander to dumb rage

that won’t surrender and admit
the loss of dewy youth
this portrait tells just what it sees —
unpalatable truth

I stare at it — behold myself
near-ugly as my fears
defocus to a foggy blur —
a younger self appears

Though satisfied she still exists
I think my art too plain
determined in my solitude
I’ll never sit again