Photograph.
Snapshot.
A moment frozen on film.
Held still.
A Moment.
We can relive.
Again.
And again.
A memory of happiness.
Beauty.
A place.
A person.
Yourself?
We can fill a life.
With photograph memories.
But the image remains.
Inane and lifeless.
We cannot bear.
To withdraw.
Our eyes.
A picture may paint.
A thousand words.
But it triggers.
A billion thoughts.
Nostalgia.
Sentimentality.
Desire.
But are not.
Those Moments.
Designed to be free?
Click.
We catch one...
Click.
Another...
And now.
Because you own.
That moment on paper.
Does it mean.
It is no longer.
Free?
(c) Copyright - 7.15pm Tuesday 19th August 2008
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem