The Art of Light and Time
Beneath the gaze of fleeting hours,
Photography blooms like timeless flowers.
A craft of light, a dance with shade,
A whisper of moments lovingly made.
Through lenses clear, we dare to see,
The threads of life, raw tapestry.
A laugh suspended, a tear unshed,
A fleeting glance, a word unsaid.
With each framed scene, the past collides,
With present truths it softly hides.
For what is life but swift decay,
Until a photograph bids it stay?
No paint nor pen can quite compose,
The hues of twilight, the blush of rose,
As light bends low to kiss the face,
And grant each subject eternal grace.
It’s not the lens, nor shutter’s click,
But heart and eye that make it stick.
A soul must guide the captured thread,
To bring the living from the dead.
So raise your camera, hold it high,
A poet’s pen beneath the sky.
For every frame, both fierce and tender,
Is proof that we, too, remember.