My book
My book poem stories

blastimus but they since rose, and won the day.
Autoplay OFF   •   a month ago
Read it if you dare to spare a year or two

My book

I found a book abandoned under an oak, it seemed to be written by a strange old folk, and when opened it reads "ME" on the first page,

The words pierced through I like the ones of a great wise sage;

It told a tale I lived, was living, and what I had yet to live - And in one fell swing all my dreams and hopes it cleaved the last quarter was blank,

it ended with a full stop not an exclamation, question neither a hint drop.

I died quick, not knowing how or why, but when and where, and as i started making plans to avoid death's stare, it hit me that destiny doesn't happen here or there, but everywhere.

The book changed and I gained a few more pages, some questions and answer and a whole lot of prayers and the closure I sought, so I put it away,

but forgot to ask when do you want to read it, in a year, two, ten or twenty?

Or will you today

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