the tome of life

I'm looking through the pages
of my own written words
While reading through my lines
I think of long distant shores

I see the days that were
but not the days that will be
all the while stuck in the mud
where is the sympathy?

I turn another page
to find the words carved into my soul
that our conversation was over
a piece ripped from me, no longer whole

I put the book down
enough memories for this time
my words are flowing freely again
while I am struggling to make my life rhyme