Life,
Nothing but a collection of expierences,
A biography of oneself,
A novel for the ages.
Chapters spread apart,
Not with printed words,
But with time.
Success,
Failures,
Love,
Heartbreak,
Life,
Death.
All bound,
In the tome of time.
Years and years,
Pages and pages,
Of memories,
Of moments,
Of happiness,
Of saddness.
Wrapped in paperback,
Or for the few,
Hardback covers.
Even the thockest of skin could never protect it's contents.
Some are short stories,
While others are long novels.
All with different titles,
Yet all tomes of time.
Steven Krauss-Akins ©2015
YOU ARE READING
POEMS for everything
PoetryA collection of poems from emotions to ideas and everything in between.
