During sibling wars
a child’s bat it becomes
On icy cold days
a holder of hot beverages
On sleepless nights
a companion for open eyes
When confusion clouds
a comforter for sought minds
At a loss for gifts
a lifetime purpose it offers
If a question strikes
a resounding resource it’s
On them tired moments
a beckoning pillow it makes
When challenged by techies
a living breathing thing it proves
So if you ask me why books
a truer friend there seldom is
The Chaos Within 