“I touch their cardboard faces”
That voice, a heavy voice
(a mother-sister voice)
Telling me to find meaning in faces
I cannot see
I cannot experience.
Yet, imagination runs wild
In circumstances thus.
I see memories of faces
That once I knew,
Once I experienced,
But that now have become motionless, processed,
Stills of a memory
That will never be real.
Apr 28, 2011
Apr 28, 2011 at 4:38 PM UTC
“I touch their cardboard faces”
That voice, a heavy voice
(a mother-sister voice)
Telling me to find meaning in faces
I cannot see
I cannot experience.
Yet, imagination runs wild
In circumstances thus.
I see memories of faces
That once I knew,
Once I experienced,
But that now have become motionless, processed,
Stills of a memory
That will never be real.