The Ever Changing Book of Life

The shelves are heavy with volumes
I have yet to read, but desire to,
And the time to read them is but fleeting.
They wait for me so patient and silent
Holding desires of their own to be held
And loved, looked at with want and pseudo-lust.

Spending my days lost in the world I shaped
And in the environment not really meant for me,
I somehow forgot to create myself, to mold me.
I have become what I have seen and was told to,
And I have lived a life that desired to pleasure
All the souls that came into my little box.

Those volumes there became an escape to a world
That was also not created for me, but so inviting;
They took hold of my heart and pulled me inside.
And I know, looking at those spines, bent and wrinkled,
And the spines still fresh and new, almost off the press,
That my escape comes on the boat made of newsprint.

But those volumes are my false friends, for it is they
Who have turned on me and made me forget,
And the lost memory made me forget who I really am.
I entered their worlds with an open mind and left them
With the strongest desire for it to never end,
Because if it didn't I could stay there forever.

That all changed one day when that one volume joined them
And pushed them all off into the shadows around it,
Creating its own space to dwell and shine.
From that spot it sparked my mind into a new dance
And I could not help but reach for it and bring it to me,
Down into my false world away from other false worlds.

I opened up the volume and leafed over newsprint so crisp,
Each page causing a tear, a gasp, a laugh, a smile,
Some emotion often shared by individual books but rarely
Did all of those emotions blend together because of one.
And I spent hours leafing through this new, mystery volume
Learning something new that I never bothered to see before.

This volume was my life, my soul, who I was meant to be,
And it was teaching me to let go and be free,
Somehow it was molding me easier than I could have dreamed.
This book of my own reality-meant-to-be was a page turner;
I read it with the utmost curiosity and hunger.
I read it from front to back only once, but completely.

The first page of the volume is never the same,
Choosing to change and erase things no longer important,
Like those fleeting memories of numbers you can't remember
Because you haven't dialed them or turned them in so long.
But this constant change, it offers a chance to learn
Something new every time you read it, if you choose to...

But the question is, do I have the guts to read it
More than that one single time I already have,
Even though I know how I will feel each time I do?
Will the things this volume teaches me each and every time
Be a comfort to my soul, or will it frighten me?
How do you really know until you pick up the book again?