Poetry or something

The Face of Rage

This is the face of rage after a day of smiles.
This — mine — my thoughts whisper
while I look at the picture the mirror brings,
betrays me whien I look away, everyday.

The face of rage only comes back
at the end of the day, when I can’t look away.
Deciding what to see, comes your sympathy to me
along with all the moments I’d love to treasure here.
I don’t want them to disappear,
but the end of days always arrives
and takes from me the face of joy,
while moments seem to go.

Then once again I find myself missing today,
looking yesterday fading away.
I try to be prepared to lose next day
as I did now, and try to be less attached to its delight.
I don’t see answers in the wings of time,
just the reflection of myself falling apart,
a face of rage after a day of smiles.