(Niagara Falls 1960-70s, Unknown Photographer) I would like to say that nothing is a mistake, that truth is absolute. I would like to believe in a happy ending to all of this. I would like to believe I could live just off of hope. And as a man sheds his youthful skin away an old man emerges. His memory fades as the brown hues of his eyes turn grey. The future is a foggy thing. The past is a foggy thing. Fingers crack, and crumble as his voice thins to an envelope's edge. He speaks, he cries, and he sleeps, soon forgetting what made his heart beat. Where have all the beautiful girls gone, where are the feet to dance, the hands to hold, and the loves to make? He cannot remember, he cannot get up, and he cannot say. Somewhere deep inside, he escapes his time. He is no longer at an armchair, as he walks with his children across a hillside looking over an ocean. This is his last memory.
(Niagara Falls 1960-70s, Unknown Photographer)
No comments:
Post a Comment