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One

We are many.
Towns like people, countries like soldiers
Dark as shadow, light as blindness
a world as a kaleidoscope
an earth like a maze
complexities are weeds in a garden
substantials are thorns on a rose
the beauty of remaining grounded
fades like forget-me-nots
drifting frame-by-frame
hidden not by exposure
captured in archaic polaroids.
but who waits to see color bleed?
the only instant gratification
comes from a company of a lot
not a few
not a
one.
The photographer speaks:
“move left, look down, tilt right”
but you don’t.
That doesn’t feel right, that’s not natural
you want to scream, but its not the time
or the place
however, the camera does not lie
all we fear is pausing, being still
preparing for the flash, our head in the stars
when we close our eyes
its an impolite universe
in a head-spinning orbit
we aren’t picture perfect
but worth more than a thousand words
we are many
but a portrait of
one.

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About R. Ward

A husband, father, teacher, and struggling man of God.

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