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Dusty Pages
The Author of the Ages
Invited me to see
A glimpse into His study
I entered willingly
His oaken desk was cluttered
With piles of manuscripts
Both new and weathered pages
Bound up with leather strips
So many tales to choose from
A reader’s paradise
But one stack caught my interest
I loosened up the ties
This manuscript was covered
With years of dust and grime
The story was unfinished
Discarded over time
I shuffled through the pages
And found it started well
A story most intriguing
The climax rose and fell
But then the tale grew sluggish
With conflicts unresolved
The character was boring
The plot line just dissolved
Regretfully I gathered
The pages up once more
And as I tied the laces
A note fell on the floor
Written by the Author’s hand
A simple phrase was penned
Just one short explanation:
“This shouldn’t be the end”
Confounded by the meaning
I pondered it with care
Till I came to understand
A deeper truth was there
This manuscript reflected
The life some people live
A shadow quickly fading
Unfinished narrative
This life was just a fragment
More chapters had been planned
But this one chose to stop Him
Pushed back the Author’s hand
Refusing all the changes
And climaxes of life
This person ran from conflicts
Ignoring every strife
A life of dusty pages
A life that few will see
It prematurely ended
A wasted destiny
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