The picture hangs above her bed. A story told with so much dread. Memories are so far and so faint but her face is what I see. A picture of a life time of memories all bottled up with the capture of her hand; her hand that spills and she drops to her death. Memories now begin to fade until the angel appears; an unknown angel until I awake, the angel of a daughter born and a memory torn. With these pictures her poor head I hope it doesn’t bring so much pain and dread. One picture to capture a lifetime of memories all lost. […]
