They have become images pressed into frames
which adorn shelves and gather dust.
Faces which look down on us passively
lifeless except for the memories they hold.
Family, Friends and idols form a gallery
of distant cherished souls once here.
In time I shall join their company
and look at those I leave behind.
My father in a thick black frame
an uncle killed at Dunkirk in a silver setting.
Family gatherings and ceremonies
all see me, as I see them everyday.
Reminders of times past they delight and haunt
kith and kin to whom I belong.
Once vibrant and full of life and energy
now an album on a mantlepiece display.
Mon 13th Mar 2023 16:41
The procession of time, Keith. Very enjoyable, thoughtful poem.
If you wish to post a comment you must login.