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Photographs

in the room full of camera’s

unexposed photographs turn,

they do not stay still- how they breathe

to blur the printout- this memory,

you could not memorise- make new,

find another clear and clear your

mania from here, your camera,

stop pondering and pausing

for a better shot, searching

for the glare that will not give,

you cannot paste a glowing prism

to stick your passion in a frame,

these pictures dark, flicked switch

so, cease with your clicking and

leave the room.

metaphorParanoiapoetry

◄ Morscode (And Blue Tunes)

Her Heart, My Heart ►

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