The Neverending Story
As I read these pages
of our worthless past
I flip through them, looking,
For something that may have last.
This book that seems endless,
has only just begun.
These pages are wordless,
We must write them on our own.
You are reading ahead,
to a world unknown.
I can’t find the end.
I shall go on alone.
I reach where you’ve stopped.
And think that you’ll stay,
But all I’ve found,
Are pages that are frayed.
I have finished this neverending story,
You have moved on.
But I can always look back
At those books that have not yet gone wrong.
