The words: “Say cheese, whiskey, smile!”,
Causes laughter and happiness for a while.
Making it easy for the photographer to capture a memory.
The smiles on their faces his immediate victory.
Today is your big day - your wedding day !
His only desire to build memories for ever to stay.
He also shares your baby’s first light,
doesn’t matter if it is morning or even late at night.
The police photographer on the other hand,
doesn’t have it so easy or even grand.
Praying for the dead to smile - where he in a puddle of blood lies.
The hurt, fear & death clearly to be seen in his wide open eyes.
Special occasions to be captured, carefully picked -
by the photographer to be clicked.
The police photographer doesn’t have the same luxury.
His only responsibility, to murder, rape and violent scenes to scurry.
The wedding photographer is booked well in advance.
Even a deposit paid, nobody wants to take a chance.
The Police photographers are 24 hours on standby,
waiting for violence and death to pass by.
For your part-time work you get abundantly paid.
For the Police photographer, that is his bread day by day.
You do it for leisure, for your enjoyment.
To them, it is a heavy yoke, a manner of torment?
Photos you don’t like, you can delete.
But me, my photos - in my mind repeats.
I can still remember how the family cried,
remember every detail of how the victim died.
You proudly show and build your scrapbook,
and invite every one to have a look.
My scrapbook is my mind, my memory frame
leaving my being, emotions and thoughts numb and lame.
A woman in pieces, hit by a train
her body parts scattered over the tracks, even her brain.
A tiny little girl inhumanly assaulted and raped -
from a brutal murder she narrowly escaped.
An 8 month old beautiful baby girl dead.
Shot by her own flesh and blood, in the head.
An old granny brutally assaulted; burnt out bodies in a car,
the cause of so many police member’s visits to a bar.
Accident scenes with tangled-up bodies, wrapped around a tree.
The public pushing forward, the dead better to see.
The smell of fresh blood, the hurting mother standing by.
A bunch of flowers later pinned on the tree, a loving cry.
But all this I do, to serve and collect evidence,
to bring to court everything I see through my camera lens.
The nightmares I get a tribute to the dead -
causing me not to sleep, to even hate my bed.
Daily I pray to God to protect my mind
and even sometimes I pray to be blind.
I know without Him I will not be able to cope -
He is my only refuge, my only hope.
I wish that all will keep the Police photographers in their daily prayers.
Their pain, memories, wishes, concerns to share.
Help them to again see the beauty, the light
and not to walk and trust only by sight.
Just like King David, when I’m hurt, I sing praises to Thee.
Thanking Thee for always walking with me.
Thank you Father for being my ever trusting Guide.
Thank you God for leading me towards your ever comforting Light.
(554 Words)
|
Print this poem
Show the next latest work
