I sit on the ledge,
Legs dangling over the edge,
A small camera in my hands,
The wind sharp and alive.
A snapshot: snow blankets the ground.
A snapshot: a bird in flight.
A snapshot: a bare, tired tree,
Its branches like open arms.
A cottage—small, distant.
A lake—still, untouched.
Flying cars—dreams of tomorrow
Captured in my lens.
I turn the camera on myself.
Blue eyes stare back,
A doll, empty and wide-eyed.
The wind howls louder.
I tilt the lens to the sky,
Pressing, holding, capturing.
Clouds shift; snow falls.
I peel open a blue lollipop
With my teeth,
One hand steady on the camera,
The other grasping for balance.
Snowflakes land softly on my head.
I pull one leg back to safety
But my eyes stay fixed—
Buildings rise below me.
Snapshot.
Snapshot.
Snapshot.
Different angles,
Creations of humanity,
Steel and glass,
A marvel—but why?
Why isn't it enough?
Why can't it make us happy?
Why can't it make me happy?
I put the camera away,
Take out my phone.
A small lake fills the screen.
Snapshot.
Then I jump—
Back to the ground,
Safe but unchanged.
Snow falls heavier.
I ride my bike home,
The world framed through my lens,
Snapshots of everything,
Snapshots of nothing.
YOU ARE READING
Through my lens
PoetryStep into the vibrant mind of a poet and writer, where creativity knows no bounds. Dive into the joy of storytelling through poetry, where each verse offers a glimpse into unique perspectives and untold tales. Let yourself be drawn into the visual s...
