struhberry

Ode to the bookworm Crisp pages, Sharp edges, Black ink. The smell of Worn paper Mingled with The faded print. A familiarness that Can only be found in A book. Those pages Filled with imagination, An adventure for The mind. Words gobbled by Gluttonous eyes. Starved with greed, Infested with need. Simply delicious. Opening a book Is opening a new life, Another chapter, Exploitation is rife. Bunkered down In the recliner; Submerged in the Comforter, Book-marker? It's forgotten on the Desk. Stop now? But the story Just began. No way am I putting it down. Wrapped in paper, Enclosed in type, Times New Roman,

Sonnet - Hubris A lethal sin that cast the angels down, That devours the hearts of fools, Persuades your soul, to some demon sell, With pride in spirit as his tool: Hell waits for those with greedy eyes, While the subconscious dreams of making thee supreme, For the reckless does there great abysses lie, In which you pursue your desires to the extreme, The innocent at heart best shun the call, As evil spirits make on every wait, That has caused so many to banefully fall, Mostly in angels right before heaven's gate: … It's pride that motivates the arrogant to excel, … Yet his soul towards fiery depths propels.