Confessional

Our photographs are still born from  light,
Shadows like  of  the Corinthian woman
Who would trace her  husband’s shadow
On the  wall before body vanished in war.

Photographs were born to keep  shadows.
Words are also  shadows of  things of the air
And pictures in the fog of  a death or its sky.

Words are pictures of  shadows of things.
They are  confessions of a night’s  shame

Bringing  pink blushes to our dark nights.
They are camera clicks to capture shadows
Of bodies that have  vanished in  the war.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s