The Image

Stumbling upon faces I’d tucked deep away,

a photograph whispers of things I can’t say.

Fingers tremble slightly as memories resurface,

ghosts smiling back, each one a sharp purpose.

The sepia stains like a fog through the years,

each smile now prickly, reawakening fears.

I confront their presence, so hard to ignore,

this snapshot of sorrow, a truth I abhor.