There's a little book in the closet,
Dusty and covered in dirt,
And no one has read it in a while
Or, indeed, knows of its existence.
Beside it lies a ballpoint pen,
Its ink is all but dry,
Well-loved and yet unused
In the years that have just gone by.
From both there is a beating,
The rhythm of life,
So quiet and yet so steady,
So faint and yet so proud.
They are both so tempting;
The beat is hypnotizing,
The book is begging to be read,
And the pen is longing for the attention
It has been deprived of in recent years.
But life is too demanding, too quick,
And too much is more pressing
Than these starved little friends;
And so the closet will remain unopened
And the book will remain unread
And the pen's ink will just dry up,
Never to be used again.
But the beating will go on,
Relentless, mysterious, and hopeful.
* * *
Poet’s Note: This piece was originally published on the blog “Medusa’s Kitchen”. You can find it at this link:
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Easy to read and follow
Well-structured & engaging content
Original narrative & well developed characters
Zero grammar & spelling mistakes