Through a photograph

Allie561


Notice of absence from Allie561
I’m going to take a little break, life has been overwhelming lately and I seem to be too busy to write poetry. I should be back somewhat soon. I’ll post or comment every now and then but it probably won’t stay consistent.

He stops by on his way to work, staring intently as his face softens

She pauses during her busy day to draw the faces with her finger

Her little fingers barely reach over the counter but she manages to look at it

Dust and fingerprints start to build up, blocking my view

I saw less and less of their faces as the winds of time blew

My frame started to splinter, dust weighed me down

The glass was broken and my exposed parts faded away like a ghost town

Then I was thrown in a box, they never came to visit me

No longer atop the shelf that used to be a tree

All my pride was gone, fizzled out

I’m not needed, no reason to shout

I’ll just sit here until I fade completely

A silent melancholy death

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Comments +

Comments2

  • Demar Desu - 德马尔·德苏

    A lot of visualization in this poem… what inspired you A?

    • Allie561

      I recently was thinking about my grandmother’s house. She used to have a framed photo of our family tree with old relatives. I remember how it seemed to be more yellow and more dusty every time I would come and visit. I don’t know where it is now but it inspired me to write about what the photograph might see.

    • sorenbarrett

      Old photos taken and forgotten in a drawer, neglected memories. I have thousands that I have never looked at. Well written it seems metaphoric where we put certain memories in a drawer as well.

      • Allie561

        This was meant to be from the photographs perspective of once being loved and then forgotten, I’m glad you could relate to it Soren. Maybe we should take a few out and look at them?



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