What will remain?



A confusion of photographs,

a film in silent staccato.

Perhaps a recording,

that familiar voice repeating

the same words over and over.

Letters, that fast familiar signature.

You will cling to these, revisit them,

one touch away from touching .

In the closest hearts the warm feelings

of love, and loss, continue,

until they also cool or pass.

You will have and hold dear, old tales

and stories, retold, and funnier

in the telling than ever was,

wanting them to be really real.

Until they also fade.

Only this may remain.

Only this to show what was anticipated,

may remain.



Martin Swords

July 2009