The Photographer

~inspired by the tireless efforts of a father, gone unnoticed~


See this photo in my hand?

Tell me,

What do your eyes observe?

An illustration of what seems to be a stunning sunset?

It blankets the dark far off seas,

And tapestries the skies with delicate and intricate hues,

Lavender and gold shades dance across the cloudy skies?

And in its midst,

Effervescent faces,

My family,

My wife,

My son.

My daughter,

Playing in the sand,

As golden rays gently light off their faces,

A vision of frolic and fun?

Picture perfect?

But where am I?

Look closer,

I'm right there,

By the right hand corner,

What at first seems to be a smudge,

A handicap to the bigger picture,

In reality,

Is my thumb,

Its presence hinders the perfection of it all.


This picture,

Immortalizes my tale,

My memoirs,

Etched in a mere Polaroid.


Time spent beyond the door,

Hours sacrificed,

Precious moments forfeited,

To lay bread on the table,

Noble you say?

Au contraire my friend,

It is often misinterpreted as indifference.


Know that my absence is out of love,

Not of hate,

My withdrawal- out of affection,

Not spite.


As i gaze upon this photograph,

I see me,

My life,

My story,

The autobiography,

Penned by the man behind the camera.

-by Isaac H. George
The Masked Man
(Copyrighted)