My heart is a book I choose not to read, no

Not today because something is buried there

In skimmed over pages, some of them blank

Yet those are the pages that haunt me now

Because I see too much in unwritten words

And empty places, the parchments of my life

Where things undone lead to broken plotlines

In later chapters that I know not how to change

And I often lose my place, too many folded

Corners marking too many twists between

Then and now as I jump between them in

An effort to puzzle out a story whose final

Pages have yet to be completed…

END

“Book”