A new chapter of existence
Is said to start with blank white pages,
But my pages are already soiled
And they have been for ages.
I wish I had taken time before
To peruse the leafs to come.
Perhaps I could have had some warning
Of what my ink need overcome.
The pressure of pen on chapter one
even now shows its indentations,
And writing over experiences past
Is hard with these uneven pages.
Reminders of all that’s come and gone
keep my blossoms in their buds,
And it’s so much harder to branch out
when I’m rooted in this mud.