I dreamed I was to write the story of my life
On three sheets:
The first was a page of notebook paper
And I wrote my history, full of the
And moments poignant.
The second sheet appeared the same
But try as I may to tell the tale of contemporary years
I could not make the words adhere
Except in the side columns
Along the edges,
And so my current days seem disjointed and squeezed
Off to the periphery.
And finally the third sheet allowed no words
To hold at all
Although I tried to bring it
And so my future remains unwritten
And as of yet untold.