Dignity is a diary, Surrounded by secrecy, It's not earned but given, We protect it with concern. Diary is a mystery, Day-to-day of uncertainty, We are the only author, The reader is a destined stranger. Mystery becomes memory, To learn and to foresee, Has it been a river of slander, Or the tunnel getting brighter? Memory becomes history, The "was" shapes the "will-be", Is it a mountain of regretfulness, or a gift for a diamond carefulness? Dignity is a diary, Diary is a mystery, Mystery becomes memory, Memory becomes history. It began so cheap, yet the gist brought us deep, If today we let it open, Others turn it torn and burnt. Hands are a pair of scissors, They are pleasures and teasers, Heart is a piece of paper, On a crimson bed of cutter. Once they touch they cut, Creating an impure art, It's fun for the deaf, Again and again being used and left. -Scorpio- INFP - A