Life is not a book

Life is not a book
and though I try
words are
not synonymous
with experience.

Prose fails
to capture
true emotion
that ruptures
both heart and mind.

Line after line
I’m misplaced
where, what and
who am I?
the author unknown.

Chapters end
and still am I
naive,
ignorant,
hapless?
I turn the page.

Life is not a book.

Thoughts?

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