they say don’t judge a book by its cover
but sometimes
you start reading
and the words just
won’t resonate with you
they won't
make you think
or feel

but remember
you don’t have to
force yourself
to finish
a bad book

There is something about a library
That gets me thinking,
All those volumes make me fiery.
The mind travels far and wide, linking
Me to places I can hide. Lives lost
In dusty old books,
New lives imagined where there is no cost
But farcical flying carpets high above chinooks.

I cook delicious and dainty treats,
And watch other readers’ faces post euphoria.
I learn how to write a cinematic screenplay that’ll get bums on seats,
Ideas generated a plethora.

A quiet and soulful space,
Libraries help you positively grow.
In here, I can understand the myriad of lace,
And how to safely stitch a satin dress to flow.

In here, I've also fallen asleep,
So tired from overstimulation.
The overseers struggled to rouse from deep,
As these books hastened satisfied adulation.

This is a base
That deserves your attention,
We’ll benefit from reading your next case
Transported to lofty lands by the prose you mention.

Dear books,
I love the feeling I get when the series of sentences you hold make me feel understood in the perfect manner.
To be honest, I sometimes envy that those words didn't come out of me
but mostly?
I love you for carrying what I failed or never even tried to bring out of my mind.
I hope you realise your importance and how much you mean and how it brings comfort to me especially at times when I feel low, you're always there.
I'm sorry you have to wait on a coffee stain sometimes or even untouched under heavier books
but mostly I love you for always being there.
Love,
January

Threads
in my mind
weaves mazes,
and I find
you there–
Among all the words and phrases,
And the many works I’ve read–
Holding all the strings in hand.
Connected to everything, everywhere.
When I close my eyes at night,
in each journal that I write,
in the sky and land,

And at the end of every poem–
You're there

I dive in,
becoming the main character.
I see a world,
so beautiful and blinding,
tears dripped down.

But, I was smiling.

I looked around me,
taking it all in,
wishing it could last forever.

But, as I went deeper and deeper,
it was time to come out again,
back into reality.
Though my reality might not be as perfect,
it's just as beautiful,
I realize,
as the story ends.

Nothing stops time
It was no opposer
Time always moves on

In books
Lessons, time moves on
Stories, time storms past
Man, time ignores
Deities, time dismisses

In books
Pages keep turning
Time passes through

Time was one foe
It’s thin
And unsuspecting
But it stops time
in its tracks
Where time is
so unstoppable

A bookmark

The forgotten book—
a dusty shelf, tucked away,
had so much to say.

'To **** A Mockingbird' is a very controversial book,
It boasts certain values that no modern day book should,
At least that's what I understand,
Having not read the book through.

But this is a common literary problem,
Even more prominent than genre prejudice,
Which we all know,
Or judging the book by its cover,
An even more common cliche within literary review.

It's people writing reader's guides and summaries,
Based off of common ideas and ideals taken from the tale,
Carefully penning their slander towards each story,
Without gracing or gazing a single one of its pages.