The Book in the Closet

There's a little book in the closet,

Dusty and covered in dirt,

And no one has read it in a while

Or, indeed, knows of its existence.

*

Beside it lies a ballpoint pen,

Its ink is all but dry,

Well-loved and yet unused

In the years that have just gone by.

*

From both there is a beating,

The rhythm of life,

So quiet and yet so steady,

So faint and yet so proud.

*

They are both so tempting;

The beat is hypnotizing,

The book is begging to be read,

And the pen is longing for the attention

It has been deprived of in recent years.

*

But life is too demanding, too quick,

And too much is more pressing

Than these starved little friends;

And so the closet will remain unopened

And the book will remain unread

And the pen's ink will just dry up,

Never to be used again.

*

But the beating will go on,

Relentless, mysterious, and hopeful.

* * *

Poet’s Note: This piece was originally published on the blog “Medusa’s Kitchen”. You can find it at this link: