A Book

Bound, I am, with so much and nothing.
Many have tried to read, plenty of interpretations
Yet completely nil;
A child’s eyes know me, the gentle elder’s palm endure by heart,
A lot of teens despise, some ignore.

Laid down,in some corners rusty or clean.
Open or close, see my covers can be immaculate
But sometimes can scare a priest. Sacred and blasphemous.

I am more than a clown. Entertain, horrify, educate,
Ridicule and insult, make people fall in love,
Make myself loved, and hated, I do.

Patience, to see what’s lurking somewhere,
waiting stupidly for the next coming day
when someone will endure sleepless nights thinking of reading
so shallow and deep.

Of the millions, I am one of them; fascinating,
Wonderful, worthless, rotten, appreciated, destroyed.
Who knows? It has always been in the eyes of
The Beholder.

Ain’t it funny?
The more you tell me you know me
The more you proclaim you have read me
The more you prove to me
You do not know a single thing.

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