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Missing Pages
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Thoughts on Life I was a book with burnt edges,
Opened and laid
Flat for examination.
Each page that didn’t correspond
With this self-created fantasy
Of how I should read
Was violently torn out.
But when you reached the end,
All you found was
A spine of a woman,
With no content.
I wish to learn this poem by heart... this is master piece one...and I not going to fed out from its reading.. really a romantic way done..short with few lines..but you did your biography whole inside... what an excellent poem is this..well done jessica and many thanks for your comments