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.
I tried thinking of the word,
but none came to mind.
I tried thinking about what to do,
but I had no idea.
I was trying to dream,
but my sleep was too deep.
The moment passes me by,
but my memory couldn’t grasp it.
I tried looking outside for answers,
but it shared no clues.
I closed my eyes,
but there was nothing to see.
I tried thinking out loud,
but I had the wrong tone of voice.
If only the words came out right,
I would understand.
Lewis Walddren 