A Novel Called Life

But for the blink of an eye,

  the flip of a coin

  a different decision made,

  my life would be different now.

We are born as empty books.

Our mothers write on the first page,

our fathers bind the book and keep it safe

When we are ridiculed, creases appear,

  dents in our armour

and when our hearts break, we tear pages out,

  a sliver of paper the only reminder.

Pages thin when we endure pain,

  and the edges become ragged when we are lost

  as we thumb through past experiences,

  revisiting choices,

  pondering reasons.

The pages discolour when we fall

  and are crisp and clean when we get up again.

My book was slashed

  when it fell into the wrong hands,

  then bound together for a while

  before falling apart again,

  some pages lost for eternity.

So the original authors took possession

  and fixed it,

  bolstered the spine

  before handing it back to me.

I no longer fear an empty book.

I will fill every page,

  live every word

  and cherish the sequels.

I hold the pen.

I wield the sword.

I will protect.

© www.mypastmademe.com 2011

Not quite sure where this one came from, especially the ending!!!   🙂

2 responses to “A Novel Called Life

  1. Wow, I love the idea in this poem!
    And I really like the end too, as though you have finally become the master of your own book, actively defending it (or deciding how it should be written) rather than allowing it to be shaped as things happened to you (the creases and ragged pages all came to be thanks to external disturbances)….I like it~!

    • Thank you and that’s exactly what I was trying to say! I might not have have some things that I thought I would have, thought I really needed, at this point in my life, but as long as I’m holding the pen then I know everything will be okay. For the first time, this is what I believe and feel. 🙂

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