Taken
Desmond Kamas
The room is empty
It is filled with hate and sorrow
With horror
Her gloves hold the frame of a polaroid camera
She fills the room with light
her momentary exultation broken only
by the click of the shutter
His hair is as messy as he always left it
His teeth as clean
Beard trimmed, nails clipped
His clothes are the exception.
He never wore red.
She leaves the camera on the floor.
She always hated photos
how people dressed up for simulated events
their emotions hidden behind
smiling masks
She smiles as she exits.
And at least now,
Life had been captured.
Desmond Kamas
The room is empty
It is filled with hate and sorrow
With horror
Her gloves hold the frame of a polaroid camera
She fills the room with light
her momentary exultation broken only
by the click of the shutter
His hair is as messy as he always left it
His teeth as clean
Beard trimmed, nails clipped
His clothes are the exception.
He never wore red.
She leaves the camera on the floor.
She always hated photos
how people dressed up for simulated events
their emotions hidden behind
smiling masks
She smiles as she exits.
And at least now,
Life had been captured.