Personal belongings
-
I could post thousands of photographs of victims every day or share disturbing and graphic images—some so horrific that we instinctively turn away. We avert our eyes because we cannot fathom the depth of the evil displayed before us. It seems impossible to comprehend how any human being could commit such atrocities against another. And
-
A thousand lenses, thick with dust,lie tangled in a heap of rust,frames twisted like the lives they bore,left broken there upon the floor. Each pair once rested on a nose,brought blurred lives close and clear;each bridge and temple bent and worn,a testament to seeing here. Round, thin, and wire-bound,child-sized frames to old, stout rims—each one
-
Amid the echoes of a time gone by,Where shadows linger and whispers sigh,Rest the suitcases in silent rows,Each one is a story of countless woes. Labeled with names, now lost to the wind,Symbols of hope that would rescind,Children and elders, families are tornDreams are abandoned, and lives are reborn. Leather worn thin by hands in
-
As the title might suggest I was trying to find some poetic sentences to describe this picture. But I couldn’t,because the more I looked at the picture the less sense it made. In fact it made no sense to me at all. What is the sense of keeping all these shoes? Were they meant as
History of Sorts 
You must be logged in to post a comment.