Journal
There are pages upon pages,
Full of pointless notes,
You’ll find these books in 20 years,
Unable to read what you wrote.
Drawings litter the margins,
And the occasional empty line,
Here there are no lies,
And everyday is not fine.
Here are words from your heart,
Speaking of ‘love’ and of loss,
There are tales of the past;
The bridges you’ve walked across.
There will be lyrics,
Maybe even rhymes,
And some photographs,
Of the wonderful times.
Your handwriting will differ,
And evolve over time,
Everything will change,
With each mountain climb.
Don’t change the pages,
Keep the pointless notes,
Some day all of those words,
Are going to keep you afloat.
