I live in a book full of empty pages,
constantly searching for a writer.
Iv been all over the world,
stuck on shelves with other stories,
causing the shelf to be tighter and tighter.
I was jealous of the other books,
with their adventures and glory.
Till a lone writer saw me,
He freed me from the tight bookshelf,
cared for me and kept me for himself.
He was a writer,
and he said inside me, was a story.
He rote about himself,
and of the adventurers we had.
The feeling of the quill on my pages mad me smile.
I no longer was a sad empty book.
When the writer placed me back on the shelf,
the time i had endured without a story felt worthwhile.
The other stories couldn't help but look,
at how i stood tall and proud,
waiting for someone to read my new story.
Poet of the River
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/book-with-a-story-happy-thought/
