Potent Popping Photographs
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 leaves –
fragments remain,
shards of a shattered mirror,
reflecting a distorted past.
Fingers trace the lines etched on my hand,
a roadmap of journeys taken,
joys embraced,
sorrows weathered.
Time, the sculptor,
chisels away at clarity,
leaving behind
a beautiful, blurry mosaic
of what was.
And in the quiet spaces,
between the tick and the tock,
I search for the echoes,
the ghosts of laughter,
the warmth of a touch,
knowing that even in fading,
there is a poignant kind of beauty,
a testament to a life lived,
a story whispered
on the breath of passing years.
©bfa051725
Copyright ©
Bernard F. Asuncion
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