Picture-Perfect
"What's a camera"?, some people may ask,
"A Kodak with an automatic flash",
A device to capture a certain place,
To remember unique features of a face.
But the camera I own, you can't see,
It's actually a part of me,
Built into my mind,
Recording moments hard to find.
I hold on to these mental photographs
Taken of times shared and special laughs.
I keep the negatives in a secret place,
In order to look back and always embrace.
No need to focus, my eyes are the lens,
Giving an accurate view; an angle that extends.
It's always open; can't be blind,
Can't miss a moment; leaving it behind.
No batteries or flash required,
It operates on feelings I have acquired.
No lighting needed, it can be dark,
Imagining the shade to create a spark.
Most pictures I collect are so clear,
Especially the ones I hold so near.
So full of happiness and huge smiles,
Enough to spread across the miles.
The others, at times are a blur,
Not wanting to even endure.
Such memories from the past
Of loved ones who were gone too fast.
Such chemistry felt, yet formed the wrong mixture,
Wanting to block out such vivid pictures.
Locking them in a photo album, hiding the key,
Yet they still refuse to set me free.
A constant reminder of what used to be,
Always returning at such a terrible degree.
Feeling that I am nothing to be desired,
Blaming myself for all the film that expired.
Every roll started with a perfect pose,
But ended up under developed or over exposed.
Never having the chance to fill an entire roll,
Always dropping the camera, ruining my goal.
I'm afraid to reload, focus in new directions,
Living on old photographs and unanswered questions.
To reach the answers seem too hard to find,
Trying to advance past this rewind.
I'd like to develop the feeling again,
To move on; have something begin.
I want to print a memory, have one start;
To enlarge it and frame it in my heart.
Each day i encounter something new,
More pictures that I must view.
Deciding what to print and keep,
Which ones to bury way down deep.
Outside surfaces can be so deceiving,
Covering up what I'm really feeling.
Nothing is as "picture-perfect" as it seems,
Allowing us our envisioned dreams.
And even though I'm striving towards the top,
Not one photograph could ever be forgot.
They're worth a thousand words we're told,
So keep all your photos, no matter how old.
(2/1994)
Copyright © Jamie Ball | Year Posted 2008
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