The Book

Today I bought a new book.

A fantasy novel by my favorite author.

It’s only 150 pages!

It’ll be a short read.

 

Days pass

The book lay on my bed

I admire its glossy hardcover

It’ll be a short read.

 

I see the rich colors of its art

I admire the golden, whimsical text

Denoting its dramatic, symbolic name.

It’ll be a short read.

 

Excitement gleams in my chest

As I read its dramatic summary

Waiting for the day I finally open it.

It’ll be a short read.

 

I look at my shelf and see

A dozen or so other books

Unfinished, they call me.

This one will be a short read.

 

I read their spines

Reminded of past tales

Their screaming text overwhelms me.

It’ll just be a short read.

 

I look back at my new book

Its gloss has lost its sheen!

Its summary lost its charm!

It was going to be a short read!

 

I begin to ask myself

What if I do not enjoy its story

What if it’s poorly written?

At least…it’ll be a short read.

 

How practical is it to start a new?

When so much is left unfinished, unanswered?

I slide my book onto the shelf

It’ll be a short read.

 

Resolved I will finish them all

Before I start a new

It is what’s sensible, realistic.

Besides, that one will be a short read.

 

Days pass, I’ve bought a new book

I admire its glossy hardcover

And read its enticing summary

It’s only 200 pages!

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