The Scrolls

Fifty-six scrolls heaped high
There may well be more to come
Sometime, maybe

The text is nearly complete
These scratched out fragments of my existence
All awaiting obscurity
These are scrolls of myriad days
Days of anguish and little joy
Dreams of walking hand in hand
Days of misty pictures and childhood fears
Dreams of the first sight of that lovely girl

Your welcome to delve among them
To read, to weep, to cry
Just clean up afterwards
And don't look back