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The Poem of a Bibliophile
November 18, 2019
As I wedge myself
Like that of a book
Onto a shelf that fits
Way too tightly
The covers of a book
Seem to give me warmth
The spines of them
Act as the binding to my very being
The books are instanly freeing
And can be magically spellbinding
Even though in them they may bring mayhem
For I can never truly tell what books may bring forth
And I wil never understand why people rightly
Deny themselves bliss
By never picking up a book to read by oneself
© Jacque W., Columbus, NE
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I originally wrote this last year for a Young Authors' Collection held at my school, but I loved it so much that I resued it for my English II Honors Poetry Project.