The good, the bad and the weird

Pause.

A rose blooms at my smile.

Flashes of light flood the streets.

A blind painter’s brushstrokes sweep the canvas,

Confidently

Creating another new masterpiece,

things normal people cannot even reproduce.

 

What are those little thingamajigs?

Oh right, it’s a camera.

 

A snapshot,

a click,

tada.

A moment in time captured,

history on a piece of film.

 

Alas, this will not do. This will not do at all.

It’s blur, unclear,

as if the particles are bleeding ink all over.

Is that a tentacle?

Oh, it’s a hand?

 

Without those palm sized pieces of paper,

I can still remember.

The thoughts,

emotions,

sentiments.

Something even a camera cannot even capture.

 

Yes I am angry. Furious even, that the photographs turned out this way. I suppose, when we win something, we have to lose something in the process.

Ps. I think I did a great job thinking of the title of this poem, it’s so fitting!