Phases On Stump

Slow and steady read the prologue,

For sequence of events so scattered and tossed.

Intervals are not breaks in continuation,

Rewind the cases played at past.

Handwritten or typed, story line is the same,

Irony lies in the reader's faith,

Narration differs from mouth to mouth,

Who can tell exact sequence of incidents.

Happy or sad ending is assured,

Relief lies in all the secrets unveiled.

Obscure are the times when predictions arise,

Every story has a moral to convey in life.

Fire burns the sheets of the last copy,

Nothing to erase the memories buried so deep.

Oh how I wish I knew nothing happened,

They have to dig the grave for me, the dead.