Life is a series of snapshots.
Your memories are the photos, stored away.
You often bring out the old, thick photo album and skim through the times you had.
What do your photos look like?
Are they filled with sunshine and laughter?
Are they filled with thunderstorms and tears?
You hold on to special snapshots. Never letting them go. Clutching as if they are your life support.
What do you hold so closely my dear?
What do you keep secret?
Tell me, show me, let me see.
Your album can not be worse than mine.
For mine is filled with tornadoes and sobs cut off by the whispers of suicide.
Your story is told by your snapshots of life.
As you put away that photo album, what is on your mind?
Do you regret the pictures that were taken?
Do you hold them close to your heart?
Life is a series of snapshots
Tell me, show me, let me see.
What does your story tell?
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PoetryLife is a series of snapshots. Your memories are the photos, stored away. You often bring out the old, thick photo album and skim through the times you had. What do your photos look like? Are they filled with sunshine and laughter? Are they filled...
