Poem By Warren Augustus de Guzman

in a photograph of old times and old faces,
i found a feeling, familiar, like that of the handle
of an old walking stick to the feeble hands of
a man past his prime.

and in that photograph of happy times and happy places,
i found a warmth, familiar, like that of a smiling baby
giggling in your arms non stop as you prod his
tiny stomach with your fingers.

that photograph of fuzzy times and fuzzy faces,
was full of frenzied joy, familiar, like that of butterflies buzzing in
your stomach non stop, at the speed of the roller coaster
you jumped on spontaneously.

it was just a photograph, old and dusty,
forgotten under boxes and boxes of other memories.
old and worn out, but always familiar.

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