Pages turn, and spines are bent To fold comfortably in the hand Bound together into chapters And seamed into place A book has a start and an end All in a total sense, from one mystery to the next But the pages of my heart hold an archive of scrolls Manuscripts far too fragile to be bent Years of chronicles and fables bound into stories Holding secret pains Parchments of a soft flesh-like kind Written in dribs and drabs Incomplete Pages fall loosely, splitting at the seams Chapters in scribbles in a cute mad-like disarray There seems to be no…

I will wear it like a medal of honour I hear the hisses and snarling murmurs Who does she think she is? I hold it up high like a torch to a race See, see, ask what you will For I wear it like a medal of honour Oh, she is no good! She is not worthy! I disapprove! It is mine to keep, a bestowal if you wish History has spoken, who are you to judge? I place it on a mantel next to my other prized possessions Go and see it if you please For you will not…