The Unopened Book

I am a book

Residing in that section

With the books no one reads

As no one wants to

With dust collecting

Hidden in the darkness

Beneath other books

Until one young inquisitive little child

Comes along and picks me out

– dusts me off

And opens the pages

And then cherishes every word

Of every line of every page

Of every chapter


I was a book

Residing in the darkness

With old yellow pages

And a withering and fading cover

With years of layers of dust

Giving me a new cover

With old cobwebs dangling

For even the spiders scuttled off

Because they were afraid

They had felt the haunting aura

That goes with the cover of each book

And it was like a Basilisk

– Had attacked them


I was a book

That hadn’t seen the light of day

For years

Until that child with an  innocent mind

And caring hands

Pulled me from out of the stack of books

With a determination

That accompanies the wonderful curiosity

That children have

And took me to a corner

And bathed me in the dim light of a candle

Bathed me

The light was blinding

But it was beautiful



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