MENAGERIE OF MEMORIES
The silvered glass gave a weathered reflection.
Don't strain to look too closely!
Through foggy white, you just might,
see where others have been.
Turn away in another direction!
From milky film, splotched and ghostly;
walk on or you will get it's attention!
She turned aside, to hesitate.
Ah, but by then, it was far too late.
The movement, the vision, did begin.
In a room of despair,
a woman stood brushing her hair.
Her tears running the lines on her cheeks,
while the pendulum clock on the wall, ran backwards.
A young uniformed man, came up from behind.
Closely they looked, as their eyes connect,
the time reflects, the moment,
the man would set to sail.
To a foreign shore, for a flag and a war,
they would fight, but to no avail.
His face, the clock, begrudged.
Echos, shattered glass, a frail hand smudged,
as the sunlight flashed and past.
The silvered glass gave a weathered reflection.
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