Old Photographs

In the quiet attic's embrace, where dust motes dance, A brittle paper whispers, in the dim and silent trance. Yellowed with the passage of a thousand days and nights, It cradles laughter, and captures faded lights. A child's bright eyes, a spark of life's grand flame, A mischievous grin, where innocence laid claim. Lost in a world where time stood still, unprimed, A youthful gleam, in the album of the mind. A couple's embrace, a love untold, unseen, In sepia hues, their tender story's gleaned. A touch, a glance, a moment's sweet refrain, Their untold love, in the heart, forever remains. The attic, a treasure trove, a chest of days, Faces and places, in the softest of displays. Each creased corner, a memory's stubborn hold, Moments cherished, stories yet untold. The sepia tones, a canvas of the past, A glimpse of yesterday, in the light it cast. These silent witnesses, under time's gentle hand, Echo the laughter, the sorrow, the love that spanned. Through faded smiles and faces of the unknown, Past lives are glimpsed, and their tales are sown. In these old photographs, time takes its stand, A bridge to the past, with stories grand. The brittle paper, with its yellowed sheen, Guards the ghosts of joy, of the serene. A youthful gleam, a dream once lost, In the attic's heart, where time is not the boss. For in each capture, a soul does live, A moment's breath, that time cannot take. A forgotten dream, now reawakened, In the silent attic, where the old is newly faked.