Photographs of the Past

Frame the past

Within the glass

There’s a glimmer and a flash

Things that were

Things that could

Things will never ever be

 

Down to three

Of the four

Pictures tacked upon the door

Mirror lense

And paintings too

Reflection now of just the two

 

Copies bright

Within the night

A shape of what we thought we were

Could never be

The four or three

Not even two

It’s now just me

 

Copycat

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