The End

There's nothing I need to do now.
The book is finished.

Paper was rough;
gently weathered
A woody beige with black
lines and numbers

I've looked a thousand times,
I've read a few,
I took it in once
and spat it onto you.

I'm closing it now-
all the way-
I'll take it to the charity shop
For another suckers play.

It will get old-
lessons will be learnt-
pages will be torn-
and annotations will ensue

But the moral will the stay the same
and the man is the one to blame.
But now I will close the book,
and throw the past away.

Maybe I'll add it to the fire
I'll let it burn all night
And when the flames die
All will be sunlight

I'll see the trees,
and smell the soil,
and the sun dappled
on my face.

To know the sun,
and the moon
is to really
know your place.