Closing The Moleskine

I cease the cursive as I lay down the pen

With a quaking hand and draining ink

I stroke the page as I sense the end

At the summit of the tale, I reach the brink.

Closing the moleskine from outsiders eyes

Place it in the vault with the sparkling gold

My hidden truths weaved with your intrusive lies

My story is written but it should never be told.

A rap at the door, not one or two but three

Friend or foe you're all the bloody same to me

The fire sparks with dancing shadows along the wall

As you wait a world away across the hall.

You burst into my study with bold deliverance

Only to find my scent blowing in the breeze

Curtains flapping with the author's allegiance

The pen laughs, what was written you'll never read.

©Simon London 2012- Closing The Moleskine