A stolen whisper
A silent cry
A bitter aftertaste
Logged dutifully and
Materialised into an exquisite anthology
Of the many acts
Throughout your life.
This sacred book
Filled with transactions and plays
Will but be crumpled and battered
One day.
But it shall exist
Even after a thousand years
Solid and real
Lodged in a bookshelf
Sheltered in a library
Of the history of humanity
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