Fading smiles and happy eyes
Of the picture from good times.
The wear of years has done its work
Upon memories and photographs.

As the color blurs
And the gloss rubs off,
So too, does the remains
Of the emotional stains.

Looking back at the past,
Through third person lens,
Remembering the stories
That took place that day.

But the corners are ripped;
The edges are torn and frayed;
The light bleached it white;
And water left sagging spots.
It’s only a piece of paper;
Wood pulp and ink in the end.

So the photo is pushed back
Into a box of others forgotten,
Just a jumbled stack of history
Rotting away in my brain.
They are still most important
But I go out to take some more.