I held the book open before me
Its leaflets in a tizzy
I felt its depression
Weathered and worn
An obsolete expression
Handled by many men once
A precious commodity
I felt its vitality
To be caressed and folded
Its only reality
Comforting souls
It issued reassurance
I felt its wisdom
Scribbled on men's hearts
Offering freedom
But like all good things
It had reached its climax
I felt its expiration
To offer itself fully
Jaded prostitution
Now by the wayside
It dwells with the rest
I felt its lost hope
Stricken by longing
With no way to cope
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