An Inhabitant Of The Novel Of My Life Poem by Bullion Grey

An Inhabitant Of The Novel Of My Life



As one who understands not much
It is growing into the ripe
That the experience we touch
Lives in the novel of our life.
Written by many hands
read by but a few
it remains pages that stand
typing in the kind and cruel.
Word by word
Day by day
thought or heard
Entries, what we do or say.
I inhabit the novel of my life
Sitting on the current page
be it peace or be it strife
From the begining to my oldest age.
Riding ideas on and on
Sometimes waiting for another page
spending time, right or wrong
each moment ready for another stage.
Chapters past and yet to be
living now and yet to know
Some are held and others to see
wondering where it is all to go.
Times of silence or of loud
questions asked or answers rife
Clear skys or with cloud
Lives the novel of our life.

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