by Rich DuBose
Photos fade as subjects age,
nothing stays the same.
Ask the faded Cadillac, sitting
tireless on concrete blocks in
Mel’s junkyard.
Or ask Corina’s rotting bones in
Oaklawn Cemetery, where
broken tail lights and spent DNA compete
for space with weeds and dirt.
We succumb to the inanimate,
our glory frozen on emulsion paper, or
as megabytes stuck in someone’s hard drive.
Nothings stays the same.
Beauty turns to ashes.
Junkyards hemorrhage rust,
and people turn to dust.
It is the way of the world!
When politicians crow and make a show.
When haters shoot, and bankers loot.
We treasure time, when we’re behind.
and no one sees, just how we we bleed.
It is the way of the world.
With ticking sounds the clocks wind down,
each minute, word, and sound.
From the top of the tree to the roots below,
life passes through us
on its way to show,
that nothing stays the same!
Rich DuBose writes from Northern California. Photo by Get Lost Mike, with Pexels.
Rich DuBose 2025. All rights reserved.