Dusty Photographs
January 2, 2004

I sit on the floor like a child, cross my legs,
and sift through the dusty photographs, 
I run across it so often.
I relive each memory, every moment of my life,
So who needs all these pictures?
I blow the dust and look into the eyes of someone far away.
I remember that day, when I was just a child,
 and she held me in her arms.
I still see it today, my memory's just a bit cloudy, 
but the dust has yet to settle.
So who needs all these pictures?
Another photograph falls into my lap,
 and I wipe away the dust,
to see a picture of him so strong and such a man.
A smile plays across his face, and I remember the memory
once again. The day I did his hair in all my bows.
A teardrop splashes down my face, and I realize
I don't need this cardboard box sitting on my shelf.
The memories might be slightly faded, but the dust can
still be blown and it all comes rushing back.
To remind me of the past.