The Yearbook

I wrote this in memory of my class last year. I miss them dearly, and I just had to write on my thoughts.

I open up the book.

I skim through the pages,

flickering by, smiling students.

I stop.

The page is filled with ink;

John Hancock's scattered.

Paragraphs of memories.

I remember each of them.

Faces stare back at me.

Even my own.

They all smile. 

I remember each of them.

I remember the faces.

I remember the names.

I remember the memories.

I miss them, too.

Before I can read on any further,

tear stains form on the page.

I have to close the book,

before it becomes waterlogged.

Now, new faces are being printed.

Printed on a new page.

In a new book.

A different book.

It's not the same.

They're not the same.

Everything is different.

God, what I'd do to go back.

This new life leaves hints.

It follows the footprints.

It drops several clues.

But never can it find what I'm looking for.

A page can display the memories.

Make one look back.

Never can it put you back,

to relive the yearbook.

Reviews

[TreeSpirit]

we have to keep moving on...no matter how much it hurts we always have to continue on...its the way of the world....great poem brought a tear to my eye.

[TurtleClark]

you are an amazing writer aand dont be such a wimp your writing is really good