To The Man Behind The Lens


Perfectly groomed, as if for a perfect capture

In basic hues, simplified and resolved,

Fighting for the Rule of Thirds

In the blazing sun

Or in the cold night winter

In a frantic search of a candid capture.


Rolling eyes, but never in frustration,

Struggling with a tripod,

Trying to perceive the beauty that’s never been told.

Once spot lit, once camouflaged

Superimposing life’s imprints

Through the aperture.

“Is he the man?

Never invited in, yet held inside?”

Flashed the question so bright,

Hidden with words in countenance.


May thousands of pictures filling up your cache

Annoy you and taking your time to process.

Then wouldn’t you mind erasing some of the captures?

And edit me out of the life you portray.


Remain forever behind the lens

Backing up all your thoughts for me

Which are meant, never to be confessed.


Let time fade that perfect silhouette of love,

As we can never edit nor photoshop

The truest, treasured feelings of our hearts.



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