These are your roots.
She said: your family.
And I stare at them.
Until my eyes burn,
From lack of blinking.
Stare at the faces,
Black and white smiles,
In the old photograph.
Frozen long ago,
In a moment in time.
These people are long dead.
Gone before I was born,
And yet, they feel
Strangely alive,
As if across distance
They have travelled,
And across time.
It seems so improbable.
How could they be dead,
And yet alive?
Here, but not here?
And suddenly,
I understand why.
I am alive.
And I am here.
And I am them.
Random Misanthrope 
Love this poem!
Thank you so much!
That is a strange feeling, somehow familiar… I like old pictures and your poem too.
This resonates with me as I have looked upon old photographs and felt tht same. Family, blood a part of yourself, gone before ever meeting. Great read!
hmmm, nice one 🙂
Happy gooseberry day!
http://lynnaima.wordpress.com/2011/09/02/the-dream-where-you-at/
stunning wonders.
love it.
🙂
Clear and elusive. Lingers in my head.
perfect.
ZQ
This is just wonderful, very nicely done! I love it.
perfect and fitting .
🙂
Thanks so much! That is why I chose this one. 🙂
A good way to look at it! Nicely done, Miss Kitten!
http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/12/11/mostly-about-the-past/
haunting in some way, powerful job.
I have a box of special old photos. I really relate to the emotions you expressed and how dear the photos are to our connection to our past.