| Broken Shutter Curiosity holds me again by the throat, Introducing to me a new unseen fear. The camera I found in snow encloaked, That tells the story no one could hear. The film within I stole for interest's sake, And left the canyon frosted and bare. Pictures dark, no silhouette they make, But alone, the last with two maidens fair. The snow remains, through winters past, The first, she laughs with a toss of the head, Eyes closed, she sees not that her companion looks passed, Who once too did laugh, now only traces in its stead. She points out of the focus to something with fright, That this very instant washed her laughter away. Still the first, remains radiant amidst the pure white, A shadow falls over the seer with a sinister gray. The predator, unknown, mere inches out of view, Draws me closer each time to that long ago dropped place, Visitors are not welcome and heroes are few, As seen in the eyes of that fair maiden's face. |