Unspoken words

like the unread pages of an open book
like the gathered dust on its face
like those words waiting to be read
she waits.
the pages are fluttering now
the wind so strong brings them together
until all the words fall upon themselves
taking with itself its unread story
the words want to be uttered
yet no one to read them
the pages want to be turned,
yet no one to touch them
it will not open again
the words will not find life again
the dust now safely embedded within its frame
will not see the light of day again
alas! the dust felt good
the hope that the pages would be turned
the hope that the words would be said
has now died
the book is closed
taking away with it, its story
never to be read
never to be told.

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