Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

The diary

Your cover opens slowly,
Sends dust into the air.
Your pages, a reminder
Of moments we have shared,
Of these forgotten wishes,
And careless naivete,
Of unimpeded wonder,
Before it wore away.

Your pages stained in places
With tears and fingerprints.
The feelings, surely immature -
I have not felt so since.
The heavily slanted scrawl -
A frantic writing pace.
And now I recollect these times,
Revitalized by this trace.

Why did I feel so happy?
And why such useless fear?
This seems old, yet so do I.
Experience brought me here.
I am contained inside these words,
Sincere and without sham.
This part of me I would forget
Has shown me who I am.

More writing by this author

Blogs on This Site