Photographs
There is a point in the past
where a curtain comes down
beyond which all is black and white.
Photographs of dead relatives,
for example, transition from colour
to monochrome the younger they get.
Others have never been caught
in colour and remain forever
inhabitants of a washed out world.
They would have felt at home this morning
as daylight stalled in a colourless fog,
light diffusing to the hues of an old
photo I looked at last night.
There are times when I would gladly rest
in that past world where
it would be easy to get lost
somewhere in the sameness
of shadows, unnoticed, without
name or feature.
Now, every imperfection is captured
in high definition, shared, kept ageless
in the ice chambers of the cloud
where there is nowhere to hide,
not even after you press delete.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2022
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