Locked in their minds, <br />hidden behind masks, <br />books carry their own lives with them, <br />lives in ranks, <br />shelved soldiers to attention. <br />Touch one and he will freeze, stare back, <br />awaiting the first time move; <br />once patted, step forward <br />to unveil his solitude, <br />reveal his might, <br />or disappoint through fashion. <br />Lost guerrillas prepared to fight back, <br />books outweigh magnetic inheritors <br />subject to a new commercial program <br />cloned in hope of redemption. <br />A book, once opened, <br />is an army in pursuit of right, <br />each soldier a deceptive Trojan horse.<br /><br />Len Webster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/books-48/
