You’re standing there amongst
the rest of them. Organized between
various other books I have read;
Or didn’t read. I haven’t given you
a second thought; never thought about
reading you. I had a wide variety of other
charming, worthwhile books to read. To me
you were just another in the millions
One melancholy night, when I was
frustrated with my current reading
you fell down from the shelf,
right down by my feet as if
Even Sir Issac Newton and his
were screaming at me.
“Read it! Read it!”
Following my heart, I left my old book;
and carefully picked you up from the floor.
I wiped the dust off,
I observed your tattered cover;
You’ve been through the same
tumultuous times as me. Don’t worry,
I promise to cherish you.
The more I read, the more I was
alleviated of the aching ailments
that thrived in this world.
You engaged me in deep conversations,
Enveloping my soul.
From then on I started to read you
with my entire heart.
I started getting drunk off your words,
off your presence. It was a kind of
high that I’ve never felt before.
No drug could ever do this to me.
I let my fingers gently caress your
sturdy, sculptured spine.
My hands lingered gracefully over your
soft, seraphic pages. All that you were
saying to me was satisfactorily and
extraordinarily beautiful beyond belief.
You were speaking directly into my heart,
as if you knew it as well as your own.
Synchronicity made a lover out of this book;
me having an affair with the carefully
worded phrases and sentences. Me having
a lover in which only I could understand.
But, similar to life, a book must
always end. Sometimes tragically,
But whatever the story,
whatever the adventure.
There’s always a lesson learned.
A succinct story said.
A terrific tale told.
A song that desperately needed to be sung.
Now onto a new book.
Millions to choose from,
Millions to make a difference
in your life. Another to add into
your collection of grand and lovely
A fresh story unfolds.