We were never in our pictures,
Though our smiles were frozen fast:
It was the flutter of a shutter-
And you knew it'd never last.
All our dreams ended at daylight,
And real life took over then;
Though the past was fading fast-
We could still remember when.
You can go back to the photos;
You can see the people there-
But they're ghosts, who lost the most
Of themselves, into thin air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Excellent; I do love this type of writing. Mystery is movement within the soul.