The Photographer
Click, a flash. One more memory preserved.
One more picture to look back at when life
Seems to pass by. A true art to capture
The human experience. Joy. Hate. Fear.
The love of a mother. The innocence
Of a child a small child. The mysteries of life.
There is a strange empty feeling. Somehow,
Lost in the art. A part of my soul, gone.
The passion that once fueled the mind of a
Rebel, now withering away like flowers
In winter, covered in snow, awaiting
Their demise. A part of my soul, only,
To be found in one more faded picture.
Perhaps my memories are unfulfilled.
hi, i like you. and this poem.
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