Life of a Book

A gift of fresh ink on warm pages

Straight from the press

Bound and ready, sold from shelved cages

Into hands that caress

Dogeared, folded, read 23 times

Tossed in backpacks, gathering grime

Read again, 24, 25

Yellowed with the age of a well-handled life

Pages crumpled and falling

Away from the bone

The last shelf cradles its weight

As the withered corpse stands all alone

With tear stains and bleeding ink

To cry on its own under a blanket of dust

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