The Book of You

The book of you
is the book I want to spend the rest of my life writing,
fill it with stories that make you, you
and words that tell of your soul,
stitch together sentences that speak of your truth
and punctuate them with symbols of grace
and style, and every virtue you hold,
quote every love you've shared, shy or bold,
recite every poem of your heart that remained untold.
The book of you
will be lined with silver,
and covered in gold.
and when they hold it, let them feel
the heaviness of your heart
and see the light in your eyes
let their fingers caress the words you spoke,
the lies, the cries and the unforgettable goodbyes.
When they hold you, they will feel,
what it is to touch a soul made of steel.
Strong, young, always made to yield,
they will relive the wars you fought,
through life's battlefield.
With every page they turn,
let them learn what it is to burn for love,
to fall to ashes and yearn for love.
to die to one self.
only to be kept on a shelf
and gather dust
or rust.
What does it matter,
the former or the latter
both tell a story of being forgotten
a memory gone stale, rotten.
No, I will not let them taint,
I will not shorten
your story, your tale
for you have always been my ale.
I will dare not disguise
your truth as lies
I promise you,
the world will know
Why I loved you,
and why I didn't keep you.
Why I wrote you
but then couldn't read you.
The book of you
is the book I want to spend the rest of my life writing.