The Story Old

I’ve sat here many the nights long
With a head buried deep in spines
Papers jostling about as ink flies
Thoughts being perversed into reality

Each page containing portions of a shattered soul
Stretched out ‘cross the stars in single breaths
Captured thru ink whilst bound by twine
Slowly the soul is being ripped together again

Scutter past blanks yet to be lived for answers
Flipping thru old stories thus lived already
Attempting to find it beneath the chaos
The one page holding the one line needed most

The single most important answer yet to be asked for
Is it time to turn the page once more on this chapter
Entering into a newly spun collection
Where each page shall only be read by living them

Is it time to create new things in an old life
Take chances where none where sought before
What do you find when you take that last step
Do you fall off the cliff or float in lingering peace?

I sit here yet again ‘neath the shadows of my life
Bound within stitchings forced upon them
Seeking answers past written and forgotten
For surly these thoughts have been before

Where did that collection of answers go
Of advice written for others in these times
When doubts raced thru their nights
Where is but the answer of time sought for?

In time itself should be let known
Just what page to turn next
And which coverings to return closed
For each closed cover brings another to open.


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