The opening of your peculiar story,
Page one, heartbeat.
A divinely written book, with the ink of prophecy
Detail of every provision published by The King’s Decree,
Imprinted onto the pages of your autobiography.
A lifetime of supplications compiled into your trilogy,
One piece of string to make the covers meet.
An unmatched fable, strung into poetry,
With belief in the faith of the elite.
The climax succumbed to purgatory,
To rise or to fall, consume your margins bittersweet.
A unique account torn to doom or glory,
As your deeds kindle the words onto every single sheet.
Your character, your speech, brand the spine complete,
Plot twists in fate change your line of destiny.
Spilling with parables of victory and defeat,
A beguiling original, filled with happiness and grief.
In an abode much like a library,
Some novels bestsellers, some discreet.
But each with its own identity,
Is what makes the collection complete.
Sometimes a hero, sometimes your own enemy,
A victorious cover leaving pages that bleed.
An impression so extraordinary,
Every chapter, worth the read.
Recorded in the heavens, and where you must retreat,
A timely tale set in a world so temporary.
For better or for worse, for heaven you compete,
To be continued, in the book of eternity.
For the love of books, you are one too. A compilation of unique, vibrant, profound and complex stories. When I see a person, I see a book, a story so perfectly crafted it cannot be compared to another. Every individual, a divinely written book. Spilling with stories of experience, love, grief, and happiness. Every individual is striving on their own journey, page by page; we are literally exactly where we are supposed to be. Maktub. It is written.