grayness

The Book

In a corner, well away
From the other tomes of Gray
Sat a book of color, rust
Idle,
Unread,
Just drawing dust.

From whence it came, I do not know
Nor even when, but even so
Long it seemed best left unread.
About it hung a darkmost dread-
As hand drew near, long shadows loomed
Just once I touched- and thunder boomed
As if below. The ground did shake!
As wisdom bade, I could but make
A swift and sudden (while bold) retreat
Knocking o'er my solid seat
Only 'cause it was hard to see:
My exit was sheer bravery!

It's been some years since that day
From that corner, I keep well away.
But now the book will no longer rest
Ignored in its forsaken nest...
Now when I reach upon a shelf
I must take care! I watch myself!
For any book I chance to reach
No matter which, but all and each
This one dark book leaps close to hand
As if to make its own demand:
Turn back my cover, turn down your glance
And know full well you have no chance
But to do this thing I seek:
You must read, and you must speak

For months I've fought. No book I've read
Lest I touch that volume dread
But I know when I am but beat
And must admit a true defeat:
The book it hounds me near and far-
I see it on my Quicklaunch bar!

So grim or ghastly may be my fate,
But my course I'll not debate-
Time to click, and do the deed
And I shall speak of what I read...