He wrapped himself inside my words.
A dusty opus, shy at first,
The writing frayed, in truth and jest,
An open book at his behest.
Absentminded, he broke my spine.
He wept then, worshipped at my shrine,
In rage my pages deeply cut,
His open palm til we forgot.
Always. In doubt, in faith, in need and hate.
Forever and a day, in choice and fate,
Oh take me, take me off that shelf again,
And let my pages soothe that blood-stained hand.
It is what any story fears,
Her sentiments might be in vain,
After all, there are no more tears
In oblivion’s somberlane.
Please… let my words help bridge that wide ravine.
Oh get up off that old armchair again,
Forever, you and me, my love, my friend,
Always. From chapter one until the end.
January 20th, 2019 by Passenger B ©
