by C Cattaway
O book! O book!
With pages written on, but wordlessly.
I think between the lines, for they
Are only heard by me.
The thoughts I have aren't seldom, but,
I write them all alone,
With wisps of smiles to greet them,
Reminiscent of our love grown.
Where once, a seed of lust took root,
We nurtured every cutting.
We added mixes of good times,
And threw a little luck in.
Each stroke of bark, protects within,
A symbol of a line,
That we put in our memories,
The twigs will e'er remind
That every sweet, and sour thing happened,
So that we grew strong.
We learned to find new ways to love,
With seasons come, and gone.
I seek an answer everywhere
To questions I don't know.
I look upon the pages, now,
Of memories you stole.
I wonder, with amazement, for,
You say your love is true,
Yet, you seem too complacent with
The way that I love you.
It's been a long, tough journey, and
We've many years ahead.
You cannot while away the hours.
Work hard at them instead.
I'm proud I can call you my love.
Will that e'er be returned?
Will you fear introducing me,
Incase our love is spurned?
O! Pages that I write upon!
Dear book, that's made from me,
The paper of your wisdom, cut
From our love's lonely tree..
Do you know what the answer is?
Is it the journey? Will we see?
And you, my trusted book, O book!
Will you keep my thoughts, safe?
And will you know my love, not wasted
Rested, on my grave?
Submission date : 2007-11-28
Visits : 227
Votes : 2
Rating : 5.0
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