Through A Frosted Winter Window.
Isn't It Yesterday Today?
Secrets That Windows Hide.
The Distance.
The Others.
Poetry Poem
The Voices I Hear. (Did I Say That Out Loud?)
More Poetry >>
|
The view through the front door,
black and white like the past.
Who sat in the chair, and watched?
Who wondered if they would be remembered?
Whispers and echoes.
Dust and possibilities.
All that we are, when we are gone,
is an after image of a memory,
captured in a picture.
And so I welcome you to my place
on-line. My after image for when
I'm gone, and become a faded memory.
|
|
|
©2000 - 2022 ------- Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors
Sign Guestbook
Read Guestbook
|
|
[ Control Panel ]
Last 100 Poems
|
