Old photos drawn in colors

2 brothers share a season
Confidently look into the future
The one taking the photo is gone
The one drawing with colors leaves out their feet and the dog they induct into their gang of blue socks and hats
Cars that were once important and represented a testament to the strength of mankind.
A child wearing shoes 4 sizes too big gets one caught on the heal of the other.  Both hands grip tight to the hat that is being borrowed from someone charished.
The service station working looks into the distance and marvels at the time that he is privileged to be alive in.
3 ice cream Sunday dresses show off shiny black shoes outside the art museum.
An image is the words used to describe it. 

We don't see clearly

We grow older and make monuments to defy time.
The things done  to hide and change our appearance and the labels attached to a fleeting identity.
When the ones we love are gone and we leave unfamiliar metal likenesses for a possible passers-by searching for the resting place to their genetic origins, what is really there?
We don't want to be seen how we are.  Even in death we want to be better.  Striving for something to make a mark on the world before we leave.

The warning lights

All the warning lights shinning bright as I try to make it where I'm going. 
No fuel,  no pressure,  maint reqd, 
Driving the Backroads of life as it's happening:
The skinny homeless dogs smelling the weeds for maybe the last time.  Black fur and bones and golden yellow weeds of an empty lot. 
Black and yellow bounding together as one  unified expression of the power of life running away with the sunsets for one more time the last time. 

Incomplete

There is a continuous struggle for finding the end in any of these pieces.  The maze work is comforting in its inherent completeness.  Finding a central point to work out from is simple,  but knowing when the end has arrived is always more challenging.  The essence of anything can so easily be lost when a strong irrelevant message is overplayed on top.  The act of creating anything I feel is like the growth of so many plants.  The culmination of a lifetime of work is expressed in a simple flower or fruit.  Too much or too little of anything and the moment is lost forever.  Walking that delicate line is what I feel like is one's life purpose,  except you never when you are going to bloom,  for how long it will last, or even what the blooming process will look like.