The Photograph

The faded black and whites with gray,
tell me just how we could portray
our futures tightly intertwined,
like tight-knit scarves and winding vines.

Those colours come in with a splash,
bright lights blare as “here comes the flash!”
Two souls lean in to fit the slot,
for fear they would just miss the shot.

Photos start whispering, tells the tale,
no one can do it without fail.
How can you turn them into life?
It’s still, but that’s why it won strife.

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