Photography Was His Life

Photography Was His Life

Photography was his life,
Through every lens he saw the light,
He carried cameras everywhere,
Searching for a moment floating there.

A sunset caught, a child’s smile,
A lonely road that stretched for miles,
An old man’s face, a woman’s eyes,
He found a thousand hidden lives.

He never hurried, never ran,
He watched the world and understood,
That every moment passes by,
And photographs can make it stay.

His camera knew the things he saw,
The beauty people often ignored,
A broken window, rain on glass,
A couple watching people pass.

He learned the shadows, learned the light,
How morning turned to golden bright,
How evening made the colours change,
And made familiar things look strange.

People would ask him why he cared,
Why every picture had to be prepared,
But he believed that life was found,
In little moments all around.

His camera became his closest friend,
Always there from start to end,
Through happiness and through despair,
He kept the moments safely there.

Then one day someone caught his eye,
Not through the lens, but standing nearby,
And suddenly the man who saw,
Found something he’d never photographed before.

He lowered the camera from his face,
And for the first time stayed in place,
Because photography was his life,
Until love quietly entered it too.