deepundergroundpoetry.com

Books of Old

Musty, dusty
Yellowed and browned
Curiosity bubbles
As soon as we’re found.

Some covers hang
Like doors that are broken,
Others are tossed away
Their titles unspoken.

We don’t choose our fate
Of treasure or trash.
Please don’t choose too quickly,
We’ll think you to be rash.

One large troupe, together we are,
With stories ranging far and wide.
Some times we’re lost amid the dust,
We truly do not wish to hide.

Together we are, the books of old
Amid the dust you’ll find us
Inside you’ll find the stories less told
And more beyond the covers that bind us.
Written by Obsidian-Wings (Alyson McLaughlin)
Published
Author's Note
I was inspired to write this poem when I was at my grandfather's house. He has a wondrous assortment of old, dusty, yellowed books. I love them! I hope you enjoy this poem as much as I do. :D
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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