The Dying of a Bookmark

Tattered at the edges,
Creased at its chest
The bookmark lies nestled.
Within the dusty pages;
Confined by legends
Of kings, queens and of ordinary men
A mute spectator
Of noble deeds and murky murders,
Of sweet romances and untimely deaths.
Intrigued it lies,
Softened over time
Wetted by the tears,
Soiled by the eagerness of
The fingertip, its only friend.
Until it lies, utterly spent
Broken in two, motionless.
A life well lived
Decades of stories;
Melting away into the dust, the sunset,
The waves and the sea.


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