Box of old Photographs

There is a season—(a time) before you die,

you know you are dying… a decisive eclipse

sort of….

You open up the box of old photographs,

ask, “Which ones do you want?”

Knowing time is short at best.

You don’t fuss if they take them all,

not anymore, and they wonder why—!

(Because some one may have to erase them.)

Each word you say is fainter, more certain,

less laminated than before you knew—;

you can now see the end, the disappearing sunset.

Note: So often we hide our heads in the sand when the word death comes up, the most common thing in all life, its end. Something we all have to face. Dennis' poem is to the point, and very real, perhaps hard to read, yet short as it is, it gives out strong emotions. As he has said, "There is a season under the sun for everything," and this poem ('Box of Old Photographs') says even a little more than that.

Dennis has often said, and I suppose I don’t really like talking about it, “Death, we all have to face it, come to terms with it, I believe we don’t want to leave simply because we are so used to it here. Even if there was nothing to wake up to, after death, it has been a great experience, a wonderful gift God gave us. Unfortunately it is not a commodity, so we must take advantage of it while we can. I think we all want a little more, even Abraham, wanted a few more days, and he lived pretty long.” Rosa