Photographs Poems - Poems about Photographs

We belong to other people, In their photographs, In their memories, And in their hearts, Because sometimes that is all we have. The idea of wanting To belong to someone, To someone who tells us that they Need us just as much as we need Them—that is what the Meaning of life should be. To feel loved and to give it Back and nothing else, because Everything else...

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The clock, a relentless heartbeat, ticks forward, each beat a thief, stealing moments, once vibrant, now fading hues in the attic of my mind. Sunlight through a dusty windowpane, illuminates a forgotten photograph. A younger me, laughing, unburdened by the weight of years unspooled. The scent of rain on dry earth, a phantom limb of a summer long gone, a melody hummed on a porch swing, a whisper in the rustling...

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A familiar voice sharing the past, Remembering a place that didn’t last. Sifting through ashes of another life, Searching for beauty amongst the strife. Anguish surrounds me, a constant storm, Cold and darkness, wanting to be warm. Deprived of love, empty inside, Shattered dreams, life denied. Unresolved injustice, mistakes and fears, Yet I mourn those lost years. No peace in silence when I’m...

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Cracked edges, a sepia sigh, dust motes dancing in a sunbeam, illuminating faces, ghosts of laughter. A woman's smile, frozen mid-bloom, her dress, a whisper of a bygone style, the fabric's pattern, a forgotten language. A man's hand, resting on a child's shoulder, the grip, a silent promise, now just a shade of warmth, a phantom pressure. The backdrop, a garden, a street, a...

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photographs and memories as i search photographs and memories of gulls flying over ocean waves i can hear the crashing waters raging as if it was only yesterday these same waves are no longer there yet others have taken their place slapping rocks then returning to the air it has always been the case i’m sorry to say many birds are gone and flown to...

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Captured memories. One glance will take you back. It feels like time hasn’t passed; everything feels the same—yet nothing remains. Your mind, playing tricks… a fleeting sleight of hand, leaving tears spooling from your eyes. You don’t know what you have until it’s gone— a simple cliché, but it’s true. When all that’s left are photographs… one day, you’ll feel it too....

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The most honored woman of her place; I’m not fortunate enough to see her face! She is none other than my loving mother; People say, one can’t find like her another! I know not, what mother’s love is all about! Does God have any sense? I always doubt! The lady in the photograph, I was taught, Was my mother! Oh, a great...

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Some poems are poured when a poet loses someone, so those who cannot write, feel words mirroring their souls. Since the betrayal of your blind vision, I've been roaming in realms of broken reflections. In your aquarium existence, I've let my emotions sink to the bottom. Remember, when I was your first thought, a jewel in your celebrated crown - now I'm just a pebble...

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He sat captured in a surprised look, Middle-aged, youthful and vibrant, He was committed to his work and family, An uncommon balance admired by his colleagues. His story was that of grass to grace, From humble beginnings, He moved up the ladder, He meandered and blossomed, He was a shooting star in the night sky. He took a wrong leap, It was an anguish...

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Fading photographs collecting dust, the images of moments from my past like ancient aging metals caked with rust from torrid tear-soaked dreams that didn’t last and cast aside as hopes became aghast. Stowed away behind my closet door these boxed up fading photos you will find, though...

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Memory-rejuvenating… Though fading, they evoke exuberance of childhood achievements, verily delighting midst milestones of might, mercy and miracles while emerging triumphant from falls to gain high fives, surpassing Olympic medals--- Oh, that was me with my Mom and Dad, very supportive after my Kindergarten speech, successful by their directive! Nostalgia-refueling… Albeit decades of storage, they assert adolescence-propelled vibrancy inviting me...

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In a dusty bin, albums lie stacked, old and worn, Yellowed with age, a few tattered pages hold pictures of a newborn. Another bears autographs, a favourite band’s ink now faded, With a young girl’s crush and tears, memories created. Years of life captured through childhood and beyond, Each image, a fragment echo of lives once vibrant, creating a bond. Stories...

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dust covered photos forgotten over the years just recently found old smiles brought to life memories that make me laugh emotions run wild the more I dust them the more faded they become sun's rays have touched them through the years they've shine bringing joy into our house one photo at a time...

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My older photo books sit on the bottom shelf. Sometimes I dust them off and look at every page. Revisiting the past through faded Polaroids reminds me of the changes wrought by time and age. I gaze upon the faces of my school-day friends, three siblings, cousins, and myself. Our smiles survived, despite time’s yellow tinge obscuring other features. Those brilliant smiles...

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Fading photographs are strewn across alabaster tabletops, drenched in moonlight streaming through rustling curtains. Snow owls call out to each other through the whistling wind, as flakes of snow dust frostbit grass outside crystallized windows. A roaring fireplace crackles in the corner, and I sit back upon an oaken rocking...

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