The pores on my face

The pores on my face
They all mothered a fruit.
-- Acnes.
Now their kids are gone.
Left is the mother alone.
She is still here with the womb.
Aging and maturing each day.

Her kids are mortal.
But she is immortal.
Or immortal, until I cease to exist.

They are weird.
Grossly grotesque.
I look at them everyday.
All are alive and breathing.

The author once called it aging.
-- Aging gracefully.
But will anyone age with grace?
I remember my walking to my 20's.
Always walking with a random thought.

Always thinking about maturity.
Now I walk towards my 30's.
Still with a random thought.
Still thinking they are mature.

I thought 20's bore the matured me.
Now I think I survived less matured me.
May be in my 40's I think.
Oh ... ya,
The 30's still bore the ill matured me.

The pores stand still there.
Marking the passage.
The passage of time.
The fact is that, they mean so much to me !