Hello, there.
Being a lover of poetry, I wrote this poem with a particular situation in mind. However, as I keep reading it over and over again,
I realize that it can be interpreted in many ways.
As the title suggests, "The Open Book" is now yours to read.
Take it however it resonates.
An open book in front of you.
Oh, don't you want to read?
Words spilling over the paper
Describing love and greed;
An open book in front of you,
Do you want to see?
It was all written for your eyes and soul
wanting them to be freed;
An open book in front of you
won't you pick it up?
Glance over a few pages,
And maybe then,
decide to give up?
An open book in front of you,
As it lays there vulnerably
Why don't you hold with your hands
so tight
and touch it, gently
The open book in front of you
You do not dare to read
The open book in front of you, it
just needs your feels
The open book in front of you
Deprived of love and affection,
the open book in front of you
that begs for your attention
The open book in front of you as
it waits there patiently;
I was the open book,
But you didn't like to read.
