Boxes of photographs tell the story of my life
the camera has captured moments, not emotion
pictures of people and places hiding commotion
not the waves of memory in motion
not a heart, only colors devoid of strife.

I first overcame through tears.
Then I learned to cope in denial
as if my safety had never been on trial.
My demeanor showed cheerful guile
while I survived the healing years.

A child who loves is lost
when mother and father leave
and family means fear must be grieved.
A child who loves believes
her world is forever storm-tossed.

If she stays the course, her spirit will revive.
She will discover she won’t always be adrift.
Age and wisdom teach many gifts
about how to grow strong, how to close rifts.
She will build herself up, love again, fly.

And these are the truths photos don’t show.
Because sorrow is too bold for us
pain so heavy it burdens us
so man’s invention the camera lies for us.
But hope is worth holding; don’t let go.