A book in my hand

It is weird that I am here. 


On a beautiful island I cannot call my home. 

I have no cell phone, no coffee, no friends of my own. 

Deserted, I feel..alone.


It drives me crazy to be without food, clean water, music. 

but if I could only salvage one thing from the wreck, 

I guarantee it'd be a book. 

Any book I choose would suffice for me. 

Why a book? 


With a book in my hand, I am never alone. 

I am inspired, motivated, to live on my own. 

With a book in my hand, I have food to eat,

I will eat the words, until they devour me. 

With a book in my hand, I am never thirsty, 

I'll drink the water from my thoughts until it runs dry. 

With a book in my hand, I will always have a home, 

The characters will invite me in and love me so.


I can map out the world, without leaving land. 

I can write SOS with pages, palm leaves and sand. 

I can read to animals that need a friend, 

I can crack the spine and use the thread the build. 


Oh boy, I couldn't go on,

without a book in my hand. 

This poem is about: 


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