Paper frail, it lies in binds.
Ink now splattered on the lines.
As the words all fade away,
Message reaches, there to stay.
Through the gates, the sands of time,
Touch the cover, always mine.
Memory of what was done,
When it hits, the morning gun.
Fragile pieces on the floor,
Has been broken, words no more.
When the brain fails to suffice,
Chance of fate to roll the dice.
Not my memories to keep,
Still they linger in the deep.
Beacon used to find the light,
No hope it will stop the fight.
Syllables come to transpire,
No more strings to heart’s desire,
Years are slowly dripping down,
Hesitance puts on a frown.
Remembrance in poetry,
Words not for the world to see.
Thoughts of old, laid down to rest,
Shall sleep tight within the nest.
For my hands and eyes to calm,
Little words put there as balm.
For the world does seem to know,
Perspective e’er helps to grow.