Poem #17

I became a shelf for my own books. I am carrying them
all on my back, all of these untold, only written words.
Take a dusty book off this tired, broken shelf and
read it out loud. If it touches your soul, it will become
worth the sacrifice.


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3 thoughts on “Poem #17

  1. No truer words ever spoken. Love this piece Luna!

    1. Thank you, so glad you liked it 🙂

      1. You’re most welcome! I shall enjoy reading more of your pieces.

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