The Pages Of Time

I sat in silence, a cornered soul, A shelf-bound life, my stories untold. But then came hands, that reached and took, And pages turned, with curiosity hooked. Some flipped through fast, with disinterest cold, Their eyes glazed over, my words grew old. They placed me back, with a dismissive sigh, No love, no care, just a forgotten lie. But others came, with reckless might, Tore pages apart, without a gentle light. They destroyed my heart, without a care, Leaving me torn, with no words to share. Yet, rare souls appeared, with love so true, Their touch was gentle, their hearts anew. They read my words, with affection deep, And in my pages, their own stories did keep. Each reader wrote, a new lesson or two, Some with pain, some with nostalgia's hue. Some with joy, that overflowed like rain, Their memories etched, in my pages' refrain. My pages remain, a canvas so wide, For new stories, new memories to reside. Only the one, who wrote my first page, Can write the last, and turn the final stage. I pass through hands, a journey so grand, A book of lives, with stories to expand. My pages worn, my words still alive, A testament to readers, who saw me thrive.