The Unread - a poem by free quill

 Welcome back to my blog guys. I hope you enjoyed my previous posts. This is a poem about an unread book. I hope you like it. Enjoy! See you guys in my next post.

                                                                        THE UNREAD

It sat brooding it’s fate,

Empowered by words,

That rung clear and true,

The writer’s power of words,

Unmatched yet matched,

By none other than his own.

At the window it stared,

Lost in dreams of audience,

Who even though deserved,

Existed not yet.

It lay forgotten in the heaps of others,

It’s days of pomp gone,

A fear struck it’s heart,

Of death untold of,

Existent yet distant,

To the faraway world.

Racing the words it’s heart ,

Antique yet new of ink,

Thus it broods it’s fate,

Until mortals walked in,

The palace that held the works,

And the hearts of authors alike.

Though none paid it attention,

Nor pained to witness it,

In it’s cranny one came,

Gleaming with pleasure his face,

His heaven of delight seventh,

At the sight of treasures priceless.

And straining his eyes he reads,

The name that it keeps,

And opening it read,

A treasure greater than most.

And with its hearts racing,

Ran out to his dad,

And pleads to buy it,

As its heart broke no more,

And its brooding mind at rest.