People are but stories gripping,
Typed on brand new, good smelling paper,
In a world fixated on the make and cover,
Where truth weighs lighter than vapour.
A book more weary of its readers than about being read,
The blurb is sometimes all that the commoners get.
The chapters reserved for only the special,
At the first sign of unacceptance, to be shut again, and outside let.
Gushes of wind sometimes leave the pages agape.
A momentary loss of restraint- of emotion a display.
The solace in solitude when you feel blue,
When you draw into yourself, to keep the pain at bay.
The weight of one wrong reader weighs heavily upon your book;
The binding cuts through , the edges chafe,
Maybe we are all just looking for one reader right ,
to read our stories in the quiet and then, keep them safe.
Typed on brand new, good smelling paper,
In a world fixated on the make and cover,
Where truth weighs lighter than vapour.
A book more weary of its readers than about being read,
The blurb is sometimes all that the commoners get.
The chapters reserved for only the special,
At the first sign of unacceptance, to be shut again, and outside let.
Gushes of wind sometimes leave the pages agape.
A momentary loss of restraint- of emotion a display.
The solace in solitude when you feel blue,
When you draw into yourself, to keep the pain at bay.
The weight of one wrong reader weighs heavily upon your book;
The binding cuts through , the edges chafe,
Maybe we are all just looking for one reader right ,
to read our stories in the quiet and then, keep them safe.
Loved it����
ReplyDeleteThank you..
DeleteBeautiful ❤️
ReplyDeleteWe all are indeed old books shelved away safely !
Thank you .. 💕
Delete