you sit cross legged on the side of the dirt path where the frayed burlap on cracked mud forms your seat. your sunken unseeing eyes are restless but do not notice a passerby throw bread in your direction; it falls a foot short and is immediately attacked by flies that form a thick sticky black glaze on that stale loaf. the rags you wear seem to be dissolving into your frail body; in your hope wizened hands you clutch a tin that once contained baby formula but now rattles a few loose coins against your soul.
and yet you smile.
etched into the lines of your face is a smile that flickers with faith through the tangle of your being as you hold onto time’s finger waiting for someone else to see.
joining the poets over at dverse who are all talking in the second person today.
Hello! I am so happy you are here. Come in, stay a while and make yourself comfortable. Here you will find images of how I see the world and words that form the thoughts in my mind as I try to make sense of life. Pull up a chair and join in the conversation.
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"There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs."