Locally dorky

Mortal is the name for us We exist for a time being just. When the clock stops ticking And we stop existing; Has anyone any idea What would we leave behind here? Neither the fame which was ours to hold  Nor the money we kept in our folds; Probably the songs we sung in the green fields And the words we used for ourselves to shield. But, mostly just moments in the souls of those Who have adored us the most. For memories will be the single thing That people will cherish about our beings. For their hearts will freeze those images Of moments spent with us never worth loosing And no money would be able to match, The worth of these priced artefacts. Forever they will stay, Locked away in a solid safe. The safe ,called heart Which holds all the body's art.

She was an open book Every doubt about herself she shook . Every little detail she shared With her words without being scared. About the world she did not care Always herself she chose to express. Never had a doubt about whatever Was written within her; Never wanted to change a word About whatever inside herself she bore. She was unique she felt 'Vintage' was how she used to describe self. Never had she thought Her beliefs would be shattered apart And the openness about herself she adored Would make her pay a price so bold. People decided to use her amicability And threw her aside after sucking her for her desirability. But she was not the one to accept defeat She continued being read as she always did, Until again she was thrown away, Her pages all tattered and torn away. All she could do was watch While her pages flew off, Leaving her barren and wishing she never Had held her stand forever. Yes she was an open book And she wished she had been aloof