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……..