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,
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!!! 🙂