Book Of Life


Born one day,
Tis was mid May.
Ready for life's lay,
All coming from Fate's say.

Tis my story,
i wrote wit a knife.
It's a book.
My Book of Life.

The agony and pain,
All to the whipper's gain.
Master shouts in rage,
As my blood runs with rain.

Tis my story,
I'm writing with a knife.
Please save me,
from my Book of Life.

On the block,
with chains and locks.
Staring at the head's of socks.
with the rain to my back,
before I'm thrown in a sack.

Tis my story.
I'm writing with a knife.
In my skin,
my Book of Life.

Growing wise, getting old.
New ones being bold.
Searching mines, finding gold.
With my body being sold.

Tis my story,
I'm writing with a knife.
My soul is lost,
from my Book of Life.

My time has come for me to go.
Circle of Life is in the flow.
My soul moves on, it's sadly so.
For me to leave, for me to go.

Tis my story,
I'm wrote with a knife.
Remember me,
MY Book of Life.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem