Face

I wrote this poem as a description of a charcoal drawing of one's face. 

This image doesn't belong to me.

A blank canvas that moulds through circumstance of passing time, 

the way it lights up when we smile, 

wrinkles in frustrating times, 

reddens when we cry,

but glows bright in happy whiles.

The mirror that reflects when we mourn, 

The very countenance of our soul.