Just a Photograph

He has a love for photographs, that never lose their awe;

a warm and joyful remembrance, each detail void of flaw.

The fullness of emotion that comes rushing, like that day;

each sense engaged delightfully, perfection on replay.

Some say a photograph is just a one-dimensional show,

and this may be the case for some, so easily let go.

But some they just hit down so deep transporting him through time;

the more he stops and looks at them, timelessly sublime.

Just another photograph of those who’ve come and gone;

just another memory, a life that he’s outrun.

He slides it from the pages of the shelved and dusty book;

a picture says a thousand words, it only takes one look.

Recalling how he felt in it, evoking great emotion;

only those who’ve loved and lost could stir up such commotion.

Vivid in his memory the energy that day;

the way the sun burst through the glass, the comfort as they lay.

The lilac scent still fragrant as their summer closed its eyes;

comfort, calm, and quiet was their evening reprise.

The tips of trees still dancing from a breeze that won’t relent;

a heavy day, a tired heart, her hand in his, content.

A picture may be only that for those who dare to feel;

and certainly some images have little to conceal.

But between the pages where their past is tucked away;

the longing and the lost are there as real as this here day.

He truly loves those photographs though pain they stir within;

like anyone who’s lost someone, love, where does one begin?

He knew that in that moment he held magic in his hands,

and when one loves so deeply, one so surely understands.

Photographs, our evidence of life lived, shared, and gone,

but deep beneath the ink that special something lingers on.

We can never travel backwards for the past stays where it must,

so he’ll smile and even shed a tear as memories gather dust.