This is my new page of poems that I have written recently. Hope you like them.

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Book of Life

Living life is like reading a book,
she makes the story up as she goes along.
I'm just along for the ride.
The plot twists and turns.
Every time I think I know the story,
she changes her mind.
Friends and lovers, they come and than they go.
Life waits for no one,
for she is an impatient mistress.
Her story is adventure, romance,
she is comedy, even a goddamned Greek tragedy.
I will never know what the end of my story will be.
I cannot see that far down the line.
Life puts traps that will test your resolve,
and she grades harshly.
It is never the same one twice.
She suffers no excuses,
and rarely will you get a second chance.
I must keep an open mind;
keep it open to her whims of change.
Let go of the past,
its too strong of a burden to carry for long.
Be aware of your past, but let it not overwhelm you.
She knows I make mistakes,
and she tolerates them; once.
I cannot grow until I learn from them,
and complete that lesson.
Hold no grudges and be able to forgive,
for we all make mistakes.
No one is perfect,
and we all have our bad days.
But I'm learning that one bad event is not the end-all.
Find the good in the bad,
for inevitably there is a positive in every negative.
Life will go on,
all I can do is try my damnedest to succeed.
Life will never fail you,
unless you stop trying for her.
If nothing else,
life cannot say I haven't tried.
So thus far I have succeeded.

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The Castle

A castle, dark and forbidding looms.
Casting a shadow so large,
she stands proud against the sky.
Stone grey with age,
fissures running along the walls.
Ivy fills the cracks.
She is deep within a forest,
lost to the outside world.
Ramparts are crumbling,
the spires of the keep toppled long ago.
Once it was a legend,
now it is but a relic of a misbegotten age.
No more does Man walk her halls,
no king sitting on the throne.
Home once to the greatest rulers,
now she is ruled only by wolves.
No knights meeting, no guardsman patrolling.
She stands alone.
But one day she will be found again.
Some traveler will emerge from the forest,
and find not a crumbling relic,
but instead he will find a wonder unbeheld by any eye for an age.
His soul, his heart seared by her presence,
the traveler knows that there is indeed beauty left in the world.
He leaves her shadow but promises a return.
Spread by his word of a wondrous sight,
word leaks out that there is a beauty,
and soon travelers, journeyers, will converge
and she shall be restored to her splendor of old.
But no one will be touched quite the way as the first,
for he was first to recognize the beauty underneath,
and that looks alone makes not a creature, be it castle or person.