My Bindings
My life is like a book,
Its pages torn,
Its words stained,
Its cover beaten,
Sometimes its hard cover becomes,
Soft
The cover seems to hang by a thread.
No matter how much tape is applied,
It won’t repair me,
It won’t repair the cover.
The fix is temporary.
My life is like a book.
Its binding is frayed,
Its title is blemished,
Its worth has fallen.
Sometimes its hard cover becomes,
Soft.
My binding awaits another beating.
My pages ache with each turn.
When hit once more,
My black lettering streaks down the beige leaf.
For the sorrow can not be contained.
My life is like a book,
Its pages torn,
Its words stained,
Its cover is beaten,
Sometimes its hard cover becomes,
Soft.
When my binding can take no more,
When my cover seems to hang by a thread,
I take the tape and patch myself,
And prepare to fall apart again.