• Nameless; a naked leather spine,
    My favorite book to read at half past nine,
    Pages of old; my favorite scent,
    Tears threaten my eyes if corners are bent.

    Each day I read it, it’s different every time,
    Sometimes a story and others; a poem of rhyme,
    A name is limit, where’s the imagination?
    Just let your mind go and make a creation.

    My lamp illuminates the yellowish pages,
    Once my mind is off and reading, everything en-cages,
    The case is empty; it’s the only one on the shelf,
    There are thousands of possibilities; just the book and myself.

    -Inola de'Barderac heart