Haggard Beard

Sore from the hairs or lack thereof

A haggard beard would droop from the elder's chin

Full of revolt in its look

It was almost demeaning, perhaps intimidating

In the same way Medusa would be:

If you look at it, you turn to stone

So you stare at it, and bask in it for all eternity

So as to almost need what it has

So as to beget its own offspring

So as to crave a need for what it represents

But an old man's beard would never want to demean you

It will never turn you to stone

Rather, it will welcome you, as if it were your own mother

So instead it will stare back as you stare

It will simmer itself and its grit inside and out of your mind

And you'll be twisted in the center of its hairs

Your lungs tangled in perpetuity from the torture

Because you just had to fatigue the elder's haggard beard

And it will never forget you

Just like your own mother.