Framed

 

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.