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Megan Mae Feb 2013
Staring at a photograph,
And I wonder if its wrong.
What the heck were we?
We definitely weren't friends,
We most totally weren't enemies
But still i can't get over the stare
This single photo holds.

Staring at this photograph,
Why the hell did i keep it?
You never talk to me,
You obviously ignore my pleas ...
You probably find me annoying -
Just like the rest of those you'd
Complained about that one night.

Staring at this photograph,
Was that all we were?
Just that one night where
You were human enough
To make me smile and forget.
But how the hell can I pretend
That night simply didn't exist?

Staring at this photograph,
I wonder where I went wrong.
I thought  you were human enough
That you saw through the facade.
I figured you weren't a zombie of the pack
That you thought on your own.
And now here you are joining the herd
That you had complained about that one night.

Staring at this photograph,
Your eyes eat my soul.
How i would have done anything you asked,
Just the idea of you smiling was enough.
But what I would have given to get
Even just a hug from you, your arms
Around me, reminding me that i'm real.
But apparently I am as invisible now
As I felt back then.

Staring at this photograph,
I simply want to scream.
I dont' know why it bothers me,
You didn't do anything of importance
You didn't change my life...Did you?
You came during a weak point
And just two hours with you made me
Even stronger then I thought I'd ever be.

Staring at this photograph,
I wonder what I saw in you.
You are just a painting -
You seem so full of realistic emotion,
So sympathetic and understanding,
Open and kind. But you're a huge lie.
You're just like the rest of them,
Go ahead, conform and belong.

Staring at this photograph,
It all seems silly to me.
You're the book who's cover screams
"I'm the best, READ ME!"
While only to get a chapter in
And find you've wasted everything.
You're that kind of guy.

Staring at this photograph,
I then look at the words i write.
Do I really mean them? Am I that mean?
What do i hold against you other
Then the disappointment of what
Never was meant to be?
You were perfect, you were angelic,
You were what every girl wanted.
Why am I mad at you?

Staring at this photograph,
I'm left realizing...
The thorn in my side of what I
Believe you mean to me.
The fact that you so obviously ignore.
I call out simplistically, just wanting to
Connect to a familiar past time.
But you so Obviously Ignore each echo
And pretend you don't see, or hear.

Staring at this photograph,
I'm choking on the words.
You meant so much to me back then
And now you're just a bruise needing
Tending. Simplistically enough you're
Old news. You're a frustration of the past.
And now I'm realizing that you're
Absolutely nothing to me.

I'm reading once this poem,
On a photo i had obsessed over,
Finding it just a pretty face,
A pair of beautiful eyes that
Used to make me feel whole-
Now make me feel empty inside.
Steal my soul those eyes do...
So while reading this poem aloud
On a photo i had once obsessed,
I hold it to the flame and Burn it away.



Staring at this photograph,
It now bursting in flames.
The past doesn't bother me anymore
I feel released from  its chains.
I might be haunted later,
Truly this i'll admit,
For those eyes do taunt...
For a road not taken, choice not made,
But it's not mine to make, not mine to take
You're the one who missed it
And i just have to get over
The simple idea of you -


A frustration of the Past
- From Slipping Heart
Alvin Moses  Mar 2012
Photograph
Alvin Moses Mar 2012
I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
You had your arms around me,
And mine around yours.

I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
I did not love you then,
And you, me.

I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
It was taken very early,
Into our friendship.

I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
It meant nothing at the time,
But now it does to me.

I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
Much has changed between us,
Since the time it was took.

I found an old photograph,
Of you and me,
We are now lovers,
And the stars above tell our story.

I have a new photograph,
Of you and me,
Its in my hand,
Its for you and for me,

In this new photograph,
Your arms still around me,
I look up into your eyes,
And I know,
This is where i'm supposed to be.
Ravenna Mist  Nov 2013
Photograph
Ravenna Mist Nov 2013
A smile frozen
No sadness there
Time has not broken
We still are not aware


This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

Your temper rises
With the length of my shirt
The bruises are no surprises
As you push me down into the dirt

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

No fight left
Just some  broken bones
I'm to weak to heal this cleft
No where to go; I have lost my home

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

Everyone I've tried to fool
Already knows
All they think is that I'm cruel
They won't listen to my woes

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

They think I pushed you to this
Somehow that I deserve to be beat
I feel like I'm falling into the abyss
I'm so tired of your deceit

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken
  
In the dead of night
With hopes not to find
I began my flight
And started to leave you behind

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

But then the case began
And I started to feel hate so deep within
To you This was all a plan
You grin at my scarred skin

This is just a photograph
A moment taken
Only one time to laugh
Before our love becomes forsaken

No longer will I run
I turn with intent to ****
The time to hide is done
This time it's not for thrill

I .
Will.
****.
You.
DIE.
mûre Mar 2012
photograph One:
i see you, and the first things i see are your dark eyes
you sit beside me with open hands and make me laugh over coffee.

photograph Two:
one night i notice your mouth. you haven't drank but i have.
still all i see are your eyes when you first lean in.
i'm aroused and utterly haunted.

photograph Three:
you're so pale i want to colour you in. i want to make you alive.
you're dancing so frenetically, my marionette man
and i can't tell who tugs the strings.

photograph Four:
It's after midnight and you've stormed from my house snarling
like a wolf waiting to die.
"i'm poison" you spit. "i'll poison you, too".
"you and me." i plead. "i won't run".

photograph Five:
it's a cloudy day. you tell me you love me without looking me in the eye.

photograph Six:
you're standing in the open doorway against winter wind
dragging a half-quit cigarette and i am hugging my knees on your couch
waiting for you to calm
our eyelashes smeared chilly with tears.

photograph Seven:
you are lying on the floor, heaving with sobs.
i am holding you as tight as i can because i don't know what to do
and i'm afraid if i let you go you will cremate in the heat of your darkness
already we are both husks.

photograph Eight:
we lie awake in your cold bed and we are strangers
you will not touch me and i feel naked.

photograph Nine:
i awoke at 4am from a dream of you that was a lie
many months after i fled from your ghost
and like an infected wound
it still throbs hotly that i could not save you
and that for so long i could not save myself from you
the dark-eyed boy with the angel tattoo
Gaffer  Apr 2016
The Photograph.
Gaffer Apr 2016
The wedding photograph took centre stage
Eight great years
Two years gone now
She had sort of moved on
Slowly
She gazed at the photograph
So strange, it looked different
It was as if he had taken two steps back from her
She began to study the photograph again
Maybe it was just that photograph
She looked out some others
It didn’t make sense
He was behind or in the distance
Moving out of her life
She began to shake
It didn’t make sense
You can’t change photographs
You just can't
The family photo
He was at the back
Was she going crazy
She grasped at the wedding photograph
Watching as he slowly began to fade from view
Was he punishing her
Trying to tell her to move on
She woke with a jolt
Studying the room
God, that was awful
So awful
She needed coffee, and quick
The caffeine kicked in
She spoke out loud
Okay Tom, I finally take the hint
Glancing at the photograph
So strange she thought
She wasn't in it.
John-Chris Ward Apr 2014
Staring at this photograph.
A face and a set of eyes that I don't recognize,
But somehow it's familar.
Is this a piece of my past?
A friend I've left behind?
Or is this a glimspe of the future,
Taking place in my face, in the present.
I keep coming back to this photograph.
This image comes back in my head when I least expect it.
It's haunting; I'm haunted,
By this image, this photograph.
Staring at this photograph.
A face and a set of eyes that I don't recognize,
But somehow it's familar.
I'm thinking of events,
Timelines and passions,
That all never happened.
Staring at this photograph.
Emperor Icecream Apr 2013
I look at you
In the photograph
I keep in the corner of my room.
I kiss your eye
As I remember the way you smile
And caress your cheeks
And imagine your heavy breathing.

I look at you
In the photograph
I kept in my back pocket
Like a map a navigator should have
To find himself
Every time he’s lost at sea
Knowing that there’s a
“You” that lies ahead
Knowing that there’s a
“We” to share a bed.

But circumstances aren’t like photographs.
They change.
And they will never be the same.
This photograph
In my hand
Our memories use to fade
Forgotten and unmoved

The world walks faster than me
Fear will sooner or later
Eat me.
Gulp me.
And as I ran ahead
Just to keep in line
I just can’t stay
Where you are all the time

The photograph
May fade
But not your smile
The photograph may fade
But I’m still wearing the same smile
originally a spoken word poetry :D
Shreya Inks Feb 2015
There is not a day when I don't think of you;
its the only thing I’ll forever do,
I remember when the first time you held my hand;
you were standing close to me; it was a november end,
and my tears roll down on your photograph;
when I remember the moments you made me laugh.

Boy you said you will never leave me alone;
there were the days when you used to walk me home,
I remember those bikes that we enjoyed and rode;
do you remember those beautiful paths; together we trod?
and my tears roll down on your photograph;
and just a single thought is enough to turn my mood off.

Those days are gone when we were together?
you said this love will last forever,
and now every time it makes me go shatter;
I know; for you all this doesn't matter,
and my tears roll down on your photograph;
when all your thoughts scratches my core so rough.

All the roses you gave me have turned pale;
they now sing the story of my ail,
you have got your own world, I haven't got mine;
I donno how long it will take me to feel fine,
and my tears roll down on your photograph;
when all your memories divide my heart into half.

With bloodshot eyes I search for you everywhere;
I close my eyes and I see you; I open them and you disappear,
You are the one who has conquered my mind;
I donno how and why I got so blind,
and my tears roll down on your photograph;
when it reminds me of your bluff.

© Shreya ♥
Bardo Apr 20
I seen this ****** photograph once, taken in lovely black and white
A beautiful figure framed by shadows,
A beautiful young dark-haired girl naked
kneeling on a stairway
With one hand draped across her *******
As if protecting herself from something, maybe even shielding her heart
Her face, it is turned away to one side
And buried in her other hand
As if she's suffering some great distress or sorrow,
Far from arousing in me ****** feelings, this photograph
It spoke to me of something else
Something quite different and much more significant
More than mere words could possibly say
It spoke to me...it spoke to me of my whole life.

Her body there, so youthful, beautiful without a blemish
Her lovely contours and curves smooth like the sand dunes of a desert
Her beautiful face made sad
Her petite delicate little shoulders and arms
Her wonderful *******, her lovely tummy/belly, the roundness of her hips
The bones of her knees jutting out from where she was kneeling
Her thighs and calves resting upon one another
Her ankles and little feet tucked in behind
Here was Youth in all its glorious splendor... and innocence
With all its wonderful promise,
Strangely, it reminded me of my own Youth and my own body once
Before age and the World had done their damage
This wonderful garment thrown over our eyes and our bones
And I remembered myself as a little child, running across the beach... across the strand
And I was talking to my legs, saying, "Come on legs! Faster! Faster!"
And I was hitting my hip with my hand as if it were a whip
And as if my legs were those of a horse galloping
Just like in the old Westerns we used watch (on TV)
Yes! There was a time once when I used to talk to my body, a private little world I had,
It was my closest, my most intimate friend
You'd do it when you were alone like it was the most natural thing in the world,
You needed a friend to talk to about this strange world you were in,
And then I remembered the little girl next door
They used put us together playing, us children, us being around the same age
She was such a sweet little thing, the way she used to laugh and smile all the time
Like the cutest little kitten
The joy in her eyes and that smile of hers
Where was it coming from... somewhere inside, somewhere within
And then I remembered, I too had it once, that same joy, that same smile
It had lived in me too once... that bliss.

                              2

That photograph, it struck me as being something almost holy
It reminded me straightaway, it reminded me of the Garden of Eden story
The beautiful body had been the Garden you see
And in the Garden there was no fear and no danger
Like a little kitten lolling about, rolling on its belly and stretching itself out
Without a worry or a care
Without a cloud on its horizon
A beautiful magical kingdom before the Mind ever existed.

But now looking again at the photograph and at her face made sad buried there in her hand
Now the photograph was telling me
Suddenly, all at once, there came a day and a shadow
Something from outside, it had entered her mind, some ugliness from the world
It had disturbed her for the first time
And this was a new sensation to her
And it had frightened her
"How could such a dark ugly thing exist", she was wondering,
'And how can I live now with this in my world,
Now that I've seen it, it will always be there",
And then another memory came back to me, That of myself as a little child lying in bed
Shaking my head from side to side, even bumping my head against the wall
There was something there in my head I didn't like, something I didn't want to hear or see, something disturbing
I didn't want it there, I wanted it to go away
I wanted it to stop,
But it wouldn't stop and it wouldn't go away
And you realised it'd always be there like some shadow hovering in the background.

                                3

Now dark clouds were beginning to gather over the Garden and the beautiful Body
Now the World was coming and the Tyranny, the Tyranny of the Mind was beginning
The Gates of the Garden, they were slowly starting to close
Yea, the fields of Arcadia were fading, the exotic fruits and feelings there were being taken away
Its lovely sweet river of ambrosia would now soon cease to flow.

Like the Snow Queen and her Icy Blizzard, like a cruel invading army
The Mind had awoken now like a sleeping dragon and the World, it was coming, coming now to feed
Starting to pour in like through a breached dam
The World with all its books and its lessons, its rules and examinations
The mental world forcefully asserting itself
With its bullying cajoling teachers and its many humiliations,
The Mind weighing down hard now upon the Body, leaning on it, squeezing it and straining it
Pulling it this way and that, hither and thither
All out of shape, all over the place
Rivers of outside influences flowing in now
You were like a tiny boat tossed upon stupendous waves
Always at the mercy of other people's words
Blown all over the place
Sometimes, sometimes I just couldn't stomach it, I couldn't digest it
Sometimes I could only just throw it all up.

                                   4

The Beautiful Body... Garden no longer, now just some hollow empty shell
The Mind alone was all that mattered now
All consuming and all devouring
The Body starting to buckle and to crumble
Underneath all that weight, the stress and the strain
Not knowing how to deal with it....lost and bewildered
Among the new feelings of emptiness and of pain
Overeating and undereating, unable to eat at all
Growing fat thinking that that could protect you from all the new fears in your brain.

                                5

The Body that beautiful Garden with its golden days
Were now long gone and forgotten
Thorns and briars had grown up in their stead
Just like some long lost fairytale Sleeping Beauty.
Made poor now and impoverished
I remembered... I had been a King once long ago back in my old Garden.

(The faint joys of the Mind y'know they were nothing in comparison
To what I'd known in that sweet Garden of old, that sweet Garden of mine).

Now when I look in the mirror I can hardly see myself anymore
But when I look at this photograph
I can see myself there.
Poem inspired by a photograph. A history of the Body. The clash of the Body and the Mind, the Natural and the World..
Osvaldo Palomino  Feb 2017
Photos
Osvaldo Palomino Feb 2017
I am not fond of photos
Neither taking them
Nor being in them

Their pervasiveness
In everyday life
Has no boundaries

Everything can now be found
Within a photo

Want to capture a beautiful moment?
Photograph it

Want the world to see your lunch?
Photograph it

Want to show off to your friends?
Photograph it

Want to pretend to live a life you don't?
Photograph it

Want to show your weakness, the bane of your life?
You can't photograph it

Want to express that hidden passion within you?
You can't photograph it

Want to express your deeply rooted love for another?
You can't photograph it

A photo is not everything
It is merely a glimpse of a moment

It does not capture the emotion
The flare
The background story behind it

I prefer to write my memories
Re-creating the scene I remembered
Painting a picture with words
So despite others not seeing what I saw
They will feel what I felt at that moment
lines, color, and shape,
Make up a soft picture,
A vivid memory.
As I walk closer,
It seems further away.
I run to try to catch it,
But it opens its wings and flies away.
I try to hide and pounce on it,
The memory just fades away.
As I touch the photograph,
It disappears into the dark leaving me lost,
Without a memory.
finally without a sound,
The memory appeared.
seeing only blur figures,
In the photograph.
I wonder if I,
Did not capture the right moment,
of the life of a love one.
That I hold so dear,
scarred from the pain.
I realize the faded photograph,
Is the memory I took.
Not focusing on the true,
Beauty of their life.
I captured only,
her pain and death.

A faded photograph,
What a waste of film
to hold a photograph in my hand
  and believe what is presented,
  take is at it already is – why not?

if I close my mind’s shuttering eye,
will you be as candid as before?
unrestricted, unsorted from the hullaballoo,

you, freer than what is imagined, closing
in like a bullet from yesterday shot out
of the sky’s contrived clearing –

to hold a photograph in my hand
and tug closer by the mouth of the fringe
as if to pour water on a broken glass,

slithering now, a shadow of moon
at the very dull end of my cup;
you are closer than any rehearsed moment

ready to catch the inner canthus of the eye:
this relentless picture-passing, tense and
fervent, avid like bankiva to air,

water to chrysanthemum: behind thick shrub
of crepuscular, an arboreal locomotion
shatters loose, your frantic figure.

to hold a photograph in my hand
and size it down to the dimensions
of this home – there is potential in this

comparison: flaring out like smoke from
where it infinitely burns, I seek an ache
and hence place a finger to shush,

to hold this photograph in my hand
and confabulate a soft blow to the gut
and feel it realer than any dagger or berretta

held at one’s life-edge: this delusory intimation,
a slipshod work of feeling. to feel it rejoin
me somewhere I ought to be back again.

— The End —