Picture Book

There are two vocal versions of Picture Book — which I sometimes refer to as “Every Time I Think of Them.”

There’s a picture book that I keep on my shelf , but I rarely look inside it. For the memories are so far away that they seem like dreams     hiding. But sometimes I take  a quick look inside. And I think of the friends who have passed through my life. The joys that we shared .  The tears that we cried — ah yes, pictures don’t lie.

And it makes me smile … every time I look inside that picture book. Every time I turn to see the way we looked  — foolish and carefree and young.

Every time I look at them now. Every time I look at their smiling faces. Every time I think about their warm embraces.   Every time I think of them now   

Those were restless days.  The Vietnam War made us all insane with anger and fear. And we lived half-crazed; so free with our love and then the scourge of AIDS appeared. Some stayed just the same.   Some started new lives. Some fought through the pain. But some of them died. And I can’t help but feel a deep sorrow inside … seeing those pictures of mine.

And it makes me sad … every time I look inside my picture book. Every time I turn to see the way we used to look  — so foolish and carefree and young.

Every time I look at them now.   Every time I look at their youthful eyes. Every time I think of the friends who died.   Every time I look at them.   Every time I think of them. Every time I look at my pictures     Every time I look at my old, old friends. Every time I know that those days have ended.  Every time I think of them now. Every time I think of them now.

© 2019  Myron Schreck