photo album

I flip through the pages of photographs,
Images that are from the past.
In many I know everyone is unhappy,
And cover their emotions with a mask.

Turning pages, every one,
Shows moments of joy,
The tears of sorrow.
It makes me wonder what will happen tomorrow?
I keep turning and wonder,
What it would be like if I were not pictured there.
More glimpses of memories,
And when I come to the end,
I start all over again.
Only this time each page is turned slow.
Why? I do not know.
Carefully each photo is removed.
And from each snapshot I tear,
The image of me caught in there.
More and more pictures are mutilated.
Finally there is one, the last.
With my friends in a warm embrace,
When I have finished a person is no more.
I no longer exist not now or even then.
I replace the pictures, now made whole,
With out me in their midst.
The album is closed now, on the floor.
I lay down my head, and am no more.