This Yellowed Old Tome
It sits on a shelf, not quite by itself
Leaning on another, bored by the other
Waiting to be picked, waiting
To be held
It sits in the gloom, of a dusty room
Filled with motes and lost notes
Tomes that have gone home
Others that wished they had
It sits where it has sat
High on a shelf
Through two World Wars
A library in pause
You can see it through a window
A monograph in the murk
The work of an author long dead
Stories once read
From this bound book of poems
Stories once told, yet
No one will hold
This yellowed old tome
These sad pages of poetry
Sheets of simile
And lines of depressed rhyme
Where Silverfish have dined
As it now gathers dust
A must; if it’s to rest in peace
Amongst
This graveyard of books
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
