We are but pages in an unfinished book.
Stories untold; plots unfolding before our questioning look.
Authors and editors, both titles we oft times wear.
Shaping and shearing; thoughts coming from who knows where.
Are we bound in a cover to be stuck on some shelf?
Is our purpose to bolster other books like our self?
I would hope that the story that takes up my pages,
Will have interest and be read by many through the ages.
We are but pages in and unfinished tome.
We are chapter and verse; the shelf will be our home.
We are known by our content, we are judged by our cover.
In the end we are valued by our interest to others.
As the pages are written in the books of our time.
When the books are all finished and stacked in a line.
Will we read them and cherish the things that we learn?
Or toss them on a pile and watch them all burn?~Jay Olson
