it wasn’t four mornings that day,
it was three
Three.
the sun had peaked and light shunned
but there were only three windows to be shunned
one had fallen
one had met its story
had met its peak
and life is only life
when stories are finished
you close the book,
a silly book,
and forget
this is the story of
the four mornings
this is the story
of realizing that books
aren’t just books
that behind one thing,
could be a story to be heard.
this story is just a story though
and life is just life.
* * *
This is a little poem I wrote about the novel I'm writing. It shares the title for my novel. I wrote it in minutes, so it's probably really sloppy, but I'm interested on what people will think about it. PLEASE CRITIQUE!
