With a tear stained face and heavy heart,
I remember through the memory of those present,
So that they live on and not be forgotten.
Through photos, videos and stories imprinted in their hearts and minds,
Layers of memory unfolding like the feathers of a peacock,
waiting to be spread open and freed into the light.
Yet some memory shields itself, too painful to be exposed,
The excrutiating torment and open wounds,
They will never heal.
They will never heal.
The not knowing of where thier loved ones are,
In this breathtakingly beautiful but bone ridden country.
The contrasts of the sun setting over the Andes to the deathly cold desert at night,
The moon illuminating the horrors of what is still unknown.
Where are they?
Where are they?
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