LIfe with no hear is nothing but a myth Tears of love and hate dwell upon my face life is too short for distractions Most of my words are lost within time feeding itself to nothing As the sun rises and sets Every morning and night The book of my life opens and closes at the slightest touch The cool December air sends chills down my spine People say that you only live once But really, you live every day of your life Until you die….. Then you relive under certain circumstances To explain how it feels to open up my cover and read mhy pages word for word To take in all of my imperfections and unfaithfullness My cover full of leaves and vines Guns and knives My pages filled with 17th century style words All flowing evenly on the parchment So deep and fragile……..