Sunday, January 27, 2013

I am a Book

Once, at my first
I had straight edges
Clean pages
All was perfectly aligned.

But through the rain
My spine has bent,
Pages warped,
Whites soiled,
Never to return

Until, recycled, you find
New words, new hands.
Some say it showed character,
But it reads like regret.

Next time I will don a sleeve
Since you never know
When the rains will come,
Then suffer the age of my fiber.

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