A book’s desire is to be read,
Words within patiently waiting to be spread,
Optimistically wanting the empty soul to be fed,
For the living has been longing to be dead.
All those words left unsaid,
Every time she’s alone in her bed,
Will no longer be lingered thoughts inside her head,
For it will be written instead.
Showcasing the storms and rain within,
No longer wanting to win,
But to keep on fighting with a grin,
And that’s how she will be through thick and thin.
So read her not,
If insolence is what all you got,
For this life story will surely become a one big shot,
For God has meticulously planned its plot.
Rejoice as she unfold,
The stories she haven’t told,
On her way to the truth foretold,
As she find her worth and be perfectly mold.
