Stop where you are,
Stop where you're stood.
A spot of food for thought,
It lurks inside that tatty book,
the one you just bought.

My friends,
I implore that,
you take a look inside that book.
It's a precious commodity,
almost company.
It maybe tissue paper thin,
but inside the cover of such a book.
hides a being,
a soul,
a heart,
a feeling and a friend.

A sympathy an empathy an understanding eye for sure.
You know that should that precious book be written in braille,
the reader,
the blind man,
can feel the writer falling off the rails.

An anthology of verse when the writer felt terse,
A writer of fashion or passion,
Which the writer may have cried over as they wrote.
As their tears became embroiled,
within the fabric of the tissue paper page.

The pen acted as a tissue,
to wipe away the rage.
The anger swallowed as sorrow,
swallowed by the reader,
Pray be, henceforth exorcised.
Guaranteed for sure,
You'll find the author's heart,
it's hiding deep within,
Now and forever more.
(c)Livvi