Libraries of memories is where I dwell

Chapter upon chapters of never-ending hell

I've read each thrice and then some

These books without words, my mind left so numb

All tell a story of a life twice misguided

But never once, as a whole, undivided

And it's all my fault, although I had known

That these pages, my life, instead had sown

An epilogue of hatred written with regret

Though he'd tried and tried so much to forget

Tragic tales of envious, selfish contradictions

His faith was ignored, plagued by silent benedictions

He, his own antagonist, was left behind in strife

The protagonist had won, yet, together, we fell on this knife

Oh you, these pages that burn, why do I write

It doesn't comfort to know that we're losing this fight

So I ask, when will it end, this story going nowhere

The plot thickens and thins, but the climax doesn't go there

- Michael A. Arnold