What Are We If Not Dreamers?

Like a leather bound book
That’s fancy to the eyes
Like the black velvet cloth
That wraps the wealth within
Like the shiny sheen and glow
That invites an eager hand
Perched on a shelf lies the book
Too beautiful to feel and look
I reach out a quivering hand
And hope to grab my reward
My fingers close on the cover
Imagining sturdiness all over
It crumbles under my fingers
Of neglect through the years
Silver fish had made it home
Chipping away under the dome
Fine and glorious it looked from afar
Like men who put over dreams a bar.


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