Our Favorite Stories

Our Favorite Stories

July 10, 2018 poetry 0


The bookshelves burst in our youth

Too many stories. How can they all be?

Perhaps, you dared look inside

to prove the pages weren’t blank

Each a setting, a beginning, an end?


So, young minds favor pictures over words

Pictures give us space and are rife with potential

Text can be cold and absolute

Two words don’t exist that rival the eminence of THE END


As I became more acquainted with time

There was room for nick nacks on those shelves

Some of my favorite stories came to an end

Those I kept closest

The feeble back covers shut, producing a hollow thud

Emitting a final breath from the pages between

This called into question my own story

Where is the dog ear in this volume?

Beginning? Middle?

How many pages away is my END?


To ponder

Who is turning these pages?

is it the cloak and scythe?

is it the great universal power?

Or do I finger each page?

Am I the reader or the writer? 


If it is my hand doing the leafing, do I feel the folio?

Do I marvel at the fibers that make up each page?

Do I appreciate the sharp edge and the smooth sheet?

Do I notice the nuance of font, the space between the letters, the use of italics?

Life is a first draft we share with the world

How daring?


Before long we are surrounded by endings

One after another the books close

The feeble thuds become a metronome


An approaching guest and our last acquaintance

The guide whose intentions are hooded

But whom knows the only path to Evermore


We have come to read and write

We’ve come as creator and destroyer

If we choose to

We may yield the power of Moirai

Let us spread the ink and gather the thread



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