The Diary

The Diary
By Mark Spencer

I bought an antique steamer trunk,
At a yard sale one day.
It was still in great condition,
Though there was some decay.

I brought it home and cut the lock,
Then took a look around.
Letters, old clothes and photographs,
Were the contents I found.

When I got down to the bottom,
As if waiting for me,
I found, wrapped in a satin scarf,
Somebody's diary.

So out of curiosity,
I used my pocket knife;
I picked the lock, and then I read
About a woman's life.

The writer's name was Vivian,
Her candor made me smile.
I sat down and got comfortable,
And I read for a while.

I laughed with her in her triumphs,
Lamented words unspoken,
I cheered at her happy endings,
Wept when hearts were broken.

And there were pictures of it all,
She'd dated on the back.
Even a wedding photograph,
Of her, and husband Jack.

I followed her entire life,
Each detail afforded,
I hung on every word she wrote,
And all thoughts recorded.

I felt my heart begin to ache,
Which I did not foresee.
I found myself envying Jack,
And wishing he'd been me.

Could someone really fall in love
With a ghost from the past?
A memory from long ago,
Of a life long since passed.

Hers was an elegant beauty,
Her spirit like a star,
She reached through time and touched my soul
An Angel from afar.

I hoped from Heaven, she could see
How her words inspired me.
How her light filled my heart the day,
I read her diary.