By Mayz

Books are the dinosaurs of time

Not quite dying, but always alive

The words are set in stone

Every time they greet someone new

They open arms in welcome

Their pages are fingers in hand 

Their covers dance for those who walk pass

Never forgetting the face of the ignored 

Or who abandoned them like old news

Their ink has become my blood 

For as long as I can remember 

Since the snow has danced down 

Photos of memories have been dropped

Onto their sea of stars, blackened days of 

goodnights and burning flashlights 

We have laughed, cried, and even sung together

Their tears have run off the pages in times of need 

Not even death can separate us 

We have had long conversations about the silly world

Staying inside our little bubble, completely forgetting all 

Always ready to give me a blanket of comfort