If life is like an open book,
My pages are made of glass.
As I carefully make each turn,
Time continues to pass.
A rip is like a crack,
In the story of my life.
Any kind of peril,
cuts the surface like a knife.
From scratches and murky waters,
It's made from grains of sand.
When dropped the pieces resemble the beginning,
There's no room for what you've planned.
No space for dreams or wishes,
If you aren't careful, time will fly and fade.
Do not smash it, or you will bleed,
you've got to accept how life is made.
Turn those pages, with expert handeling,
as years go by and you start to age.
Your hand will reach out, for that back cover,
and you will wish you were still at that first glass page.