pages of lives I shouldn't know (but please read mine when I go)

I possess three generations of journals:

my grandfather's, my mother's, my own.

Blueprints of the same house, different time,

laid on top of one another. Almost twins.

An updated bathroom here or new siding there,

but the beams and all the walls standing firm.

Did I ever have a chance without divine intervent?

Not termites or tornado or fire bespoke.

I just saw me a castle and suddenly it was so.

So I write and I write, for next generation in store.