This poem I wrote recently and decided to share:



                    Another
                          chapter
                               a page
                    only  turned,
                           but the book
                                is not
                    finished.
                          Is this
                                 a tragedy,
                    a mystery,
                          a romance,
                                 or
                    just
                          everyday life
                                    trying
                    to exist
                           as it
                                    really is?
                    adding a
                           new chapter
                                    when needed.