The smell of the past
is the destruction of envy,
and every memory a reminder
of thoughtlessness and
compromised devotion.
Time disintegrates blurred pictures,
once vivid pictures of trust and peace,
now formed to haze, an augmentation
of no longer mindful photographs.
Turned from memory to nightmare,
are altogether a metaphor of distrust
and anguish, just imagery evermore distorted
from recollection and time.


5 thoughts on “*Untitled

  1. Kay Salady says:

    “no longer mindful photographs” This piece of poetry is very well done. Thank you!

  2. Jingle says:

    how are you?
    missed your absence…bless you.

    Invite you to join poets rally week 42, awards are given to first time participants.

    You will love the encouragements you get once you are in and make commitment.

    Love your blog and writing style.

    You Rock!

  3. Dean says:

    You got great points there, that’s why I always love checking out your blog.

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