A door opens to the missing in the darkness;
a past vanished without a trace,
A small bag packed with broken memories,
Reach in her with misty eyes with only the memories and photographs,
Reach back to fill an empty place only vagueness now holds,
Like a broken clock, not random, but driven by fading memories,
Reach back to hold memories and photographs to the light,
Watering them with tears to bring them back to life,
Fervent cries but fading more,
is there anyone there? Is that I? Is that she?
But the only sounds of over breath toward a fading memory,
For a long time its deafening sound,
subdued by a path of virtue,
Through lost and found, but still fading. Laughter and sorrow like – churning,
anguish and grief, but still fading,
all the moments of a life summed, completed in a snap of a photograph,
To hold for relief in moments to ratify the emptiness.
Everything and nothing for all, no matter still fading
one within and between all, no matter still fading
gentle, loving, pervading, no matter still fading
the eternal silence falls upon the moment, the complete faded photograph . . .
