Poetry

The Open Book

The Open Book

I was born an Open Book,
Everyone would Come
Sneak a Look,
I Cared, I Shared,
Wrongly, I Dared.
Worked out Well till
You came to Light.

You Read me, Read me Sieve-less,
More was Hurt and Joy much less,
You would be the Healer, I thought.
You can’t be the Killer, I thought.
You encroached Slowly
to the Roots of my Heart.
Your Nails and Your Jaws
Ripped all Apart.
Dropped off your Mask
as you Squeezed your Grasp.
Piecemeal, you tore All my Pages.
Oh, Your Sore Pity Witty Gazes.

The Book was left with
Nothing more to Hide,
The Book was left with
Nothing more to Show.
The book had a Cover
for a Mighty Reason,
I was Late, too Late, to Know.

No more Hurt, No more Pain,
Your perfidy won’t Go in Vain.
The Curtains are Closed,
the Lid is Sealed.
It will be Ages,
Before the Book is Healed.


Photo Credit: PublicDomainPictures

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