Picture Worth Thousand Words?

The beard has overgrown its sphere,

The rugged face at the edge of its sincereness,

The window to his soul,

Camouflaged by reflectors black.

My heart skips a beat,

Do I still know him well?

He sits broad like he always did.

Protecting his tender heart behind that tough face.

He isn't comfortable feeling this love,

Or the pain of giving it up.

His face, his beard,

His shoulder, his hands

They have all conspired to fail him again,

Blow up his cover, expose and then regale.

Is a picture really worth a thousand words?

Or just a figment of imagination,

A dream, a make believe.