A Story
I’ve turned the last page of a story,
A journey that lasted almost two years,
A reading that was sporadic, a long and winding road,
Although the account was brief, I want to forget it completely.
Was it fiction? Perhaps a historical disguised,
A narrative I should never have taken up.
Again and again, the plot twisted and swayed,
eagerly awaiting the day when I could escape its shadow.
Now it rests on a shelf, untouched and, I hope, forgotten,
set aside, hidden from the light of day.
I hope no one else discovers its depths,
because the specter of a history is still close by,
A haunting presence, a ghost of what was.
Nothing else compares to this tale,
Decades have passed since I read something so profound,
I thought it would be the last of its kind,
Yet when I walk away, it leaves me discomforted.
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