I guess
We all become
Photographs
Stained by sun
In biscuit tins
In cabinet drawers
In boxes stored
Beneath the stairs.
Half forgotten
Half unknown
Future generations
To find in homes
When occupants
Now deceased
Join our ranks
In captured screens.
Black and white
Faded colour
Torn edges
Glue to smother
Old albums
Seldom read
Some in boxes
Beneath the bed.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 11th, 2025 01:27
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments2
A poem of photographs but about time and memories left behind. Some stored in the open and others tucked away. Nicely worded and somewhat nostalgic in nature. Nicely penned.
thanking you
You are most welcome
Sad but nicely written.
thanking you
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