Poem About A Book Novels & Stories

Both were really awkward at each other at first but when they found out that both were reading the same book, they eventually got a comfortable to talk at each other. “So, you also read that book-” “Yeah, I got into it after a friend of mine recommended it to me.” “Isn’t it a great book.” “Yeah, I got hooked on it after reading the first chapter.” “bla-bla-bla” Both continued to talked to each other and enjoyed their conversation. “I was feeling an awkward atmosphere growing between our table so I was gonna try to start a conversation but when you brought out your book, I was just surprised to see a person reading it.” The girl said.

She was definitely part of the keepers. “Audrey. I’m so delighted to be here,” I said. Books were really one of my guilty pleasure. “I’m glad you are. I hope you enjoy you’re your around.” She voiced out. I smiled and politely let out a “Thank you.” I hurriedly went to scan through the book shelves around. I took a copy of a book of poems that I had seen. I immediately sniffed it in, loving it’s scent. “Sunshine. . .” I heard someone trail out. It sounded so confusing because it was only Bane that called me that. Thus, I slowly twirled my hair to the person who had called me that.

"Yes. There are parts missing." "True. Recently, I found a book that might help us with that matter." "Let's find it." "A red covered book with golden inlays." "I found it." "You have a sharp eye. All the books in this section are the same." "Let's start. There is a free table." Surrounded by rays of candles, the two friends started reading the dusty, old tome. The first one started:

The sky was splashed with brilliant stars which illuminated not only the atmosphere but also people's hearts. Nneoma sat on her bed, munching popcorn. At that moment, she reached for a poetry book on her cupboard which she had purchased at a bookshop during the holidays. It was titled; Chimes of Golden Tunes. 'I've not read the poems,' she murmured opening the book. She positioned herself well on the bed and flipped the pages. Arriving on the first poem, she read the title slowly. 'The Iridescent Stars; mmh… Typical of tonight.'

Novels, grimoires, Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickinson. Wait, what? The Emily Dickinson? She hid most of her poems until the day she died, but looking at this book, holding it, it feels like everything she had written is in here. It's a lot, there were still poems of her that I haven't read yet, I never knew about its existence until now. I quickly opened the book and the pages were amazing, you know that scent of old books? This one has it, that one familiar scent of home, of comfortability, of coffee in the early morning while it's raining. I stopped on a particular poem, one I've read over and over again. I'm Nobody! Who are you?

The gentle rustling of pages marked the passage of time, a rhythmic journey that mirrored the ebb and flow of emotions within her. In the quietude of her room, Veronica discovered that literature had the power to heal. The interplay of words, the magic woven into sentences, and the transformative nature of storytelling provided a sanctuary where she could momentarily escape the complexities of her reality. With each chapter, she took a step closer to a realm of understanding, both within the pages of the book and in the tapestry of her own life.

I huddle over the floor for some time, thinking about our sinful act back in the woods. I saw the strange look on the man’s face. What does that make him? “Ughhh!” I really need a drink of water. My mind is mushed with stupid thoughts. The blowing breeze makes a book I didn’t see before flip pages, catching my attention. The book is resting on the floor, a few distance away from the fireplace. The flaring amber hue of the fire reflects ominously over the book. It pricks my interest and I wonder why I didn’t see it before.

But she… didn’t flinch. Lena walked over to a little table display and picked up a thin, cloth-bound book. She walked over to him, holding it out like an offering. *The Quiet Between Lightning Strikes.* A poetry book. The cover was old and nubbly, the title scribbled in fine silver ink. Julian stared at it like it was an alien thing. "What's this?" "A book," she said, smiling. "I told you. I don't—"

that's literally just milk and cereal in separate bowls. "Revolutionary," he deadpans. In the poetry section, he stops and pulls down a slim volume with a worn cover. Flips through it slowly until he finds what he's looking for. "Listen to this." His voice drops lower, intimate in the quiet space. He reads a poem about two people finding each other again after years apart, about second chances and choosing love despite fear. The words are simple but devastating, made more so by the way he reads them—slow and deliberate, like each line matters.

This book, anyone who reads it will suffer. Your tears will be the delight of my soul. Upon finishing reading that, the pages of the book on the floor began flipping rapidly, as if carried by a gust of wind, until they stopped at the penultimate page. The snowflake slowly approached the book. On that page, there were certain names of people and what they thought of the book. Life is one, and everyone should make the most of it. But for a merciless being, life is just a business that needs to end. - Bishop HyunWan