The Light/ Memories of a Time

I'm trying to break out of writer's block, so this is pretty much the first thing I've sat down and finished writing in months. 

It's not brilliant, probably not even 'good,' but it exists, and for now that keeps me happy because I feel lost when I can't write. 

Yet to decide on a title so uhm, yes. 

Comments would be appreciated :) 

If I look down to the times that have passed, 

I can see the faint light of something small.

I try to reach out, to feel the lightness on my fingertips. 

It all seems so far away and I can't stretch out far enough. 

I can hear the sound of the lives that have come and gone.

I can hear the sound of a tiny heart beat, so distant, so clouded. 

There are some things I can touch. There are some things I can taste. 

I can taste the fear, the hatred that's shadowing the light. 

I can see a photograph, of smiles and happiness;

Of lies and tales of untold truths. 

And I can see a room, decorated so brightly, 

so naïvely. 

There are pictures and books and paintings. 

I can see a life that's decorated too. 

There is a spark flickering beneath it all, trying to grow brighter, 

trying to signal to the world outside. 

Outside of the room where everything seems bright, 

there's a blackness surrounding the flickering spark;

the dimming light.

Outside of the room, everything is darker, 

the photographs of smiles are long forgotten 

and all that's left are broken bones and broken hearts.  

Still, I can see the light, fainter than ever, 

trying to shine brighter, trying to fight out the blackness. 

Trying to fix the broken bones, trying to fix the broken hearts. 

But in the memories of times that have passed, 

there's only one light. And there's a blanket of darkness, 

and it's suffocating and it's destroying. 

I look, and I can see that it is fading away, 

and all of the hatred and the lies and the tears are winning. 

The light is still dimming. 

I can hear the sound of lives that are still present, 

of the evilness that is still growing. 

The sound isn't so muffled anymore, and the darkness has won.

But the sound is blasting at me, the speakers set on full volume.

The photographs become moving images, 

from the smiles to the frowns to the tears and to the hurt. 

The picture speeds up and years are flashing in front of my eyes, 

and all the colour has been drained, replaced by black and grey. 

The people in these pictures come and go, 

they fight and they leave destruction in their path. 

I look deeper and I can feel the powerless light. 

It's in the back of the moving images, just watching,

and never touching the lives that lay before it. 

Everything is so untouchable, 

everything is so strong 

and the light is so weak. 

Still, the images move faster, 

moving towards me and never seeming to slow to a halt. 

I blink, and I open my eyes, 

this time it's all moving around me. 

Sometimes, the memories of times that have passed

are instead the memories of times that are present. 

This time, I look, and I can see. 

There's not a single bit of lightness, 

just a girl, and a life, and people, and their lives, 

and the memories of times that have passed.