Writing...

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Writing

Submitted: May 11, 2008

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Submitted: May 11, 2008

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Moving yourself through doors,

Not meant to be opened,

Searching inside,

For that word or phrase,

Until you are taken by the tide,

That takes you in your soul,

Where you might find,

The sun rising in your heart,

And the book that will be your pride,

Questions with no answers,

Will it be bought?

Will it be read?

As much as critics say it ought,

There is no dedicated certainty,

That will give you the peace,

Of your mind,

That you have been searching for,

Every book unread,

Has neither beginning nor end.


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