The Memoir

Wed, 04/13/2016 - 12:47 -- MBrock

On the shelf, it stoically sits,

patiently waiting for a stranger unknown,

to hear the stories of it.

Eager, the story teller speaks,

silently of the mind of a child,

to the strong and the meek.


As the pages are flipped,

one looks back in time to see,

a flower blossoming unclipped.

In black ink it tells it all,

from a girl to a woman with adventure,

the good and bad, the big and small.

The keeper shows the true side,

of it's master,

and what's inside her mind.


It eases her heart to know, 

that apart of her will live on.

Even though another place her soul will go,

her dreams and memories will remain when she is gone.

To this day, this book she can't live without.

She'll hold onto it as long as she can,

lest it be forgotten and thrown out.


Surely it would break her heart, 

if any page be ripped,

and torn apart.

She would die where she stood,

if anyone destroyed it,

erasing those thoughts and memories for good.

So she holds onto it,

for as long as she lives,

savouring every bit,

of those stories her teller gives.


This poem is about: 
Our world
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I posted the same poem twice because I posted it on the wrong link.

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