Turning the pages
The story writes itself before my eyes
Ink flowing mysteriously into white
Filling empty space with defined presence
And the next page brings continued surprise
Truth is shielded by crumbling black ink
And cunning emerald beauty.
The story alters its course
Rising and falling
Waves breaking on beached rocks
Oblivious of human action.
Just when all conflict appears resolved
A new twist re-ties
Long untangled knots.
And new pages promise new conclusions.
Learning the ending becomes a necessity
I want the story resolved
Skip a hundred pages and read the end…
But the end is confounding
And less quenching
When one flies over the story
Instead of hiking through it.
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