My Books

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I am alone on this earth
And have been since my birth,
No sister dear or mother even to tell me of my worth.
All I have are my books
To keep me company,
And when the sorrow has got its books
Into my soul—into me—
I see a volume with a look
That says, “Maybe some poetry?”
And just like that my pain is taken
And my soul is reawakened,
And every tear that from my eye was wrenched
Is lost, but I’m not shaken,
For no longer will I sit on the bench
But fly instead with the heroes
—Not be lonely with the zeroes—
I’m flying with the heroes from my books.





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JackieH said...
May 30, 2012 at 10:37 pm
Wow, yet another one of your poems that has astonished me! This is going straight to my favorites. It diserves to be in the magazine, for sure.
 
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