Saving Books

Idle Verse: A Poetry Feature

Photo by Jaredd Craig on Unsplash

Saving Books

I dreamt there was a vast, dark library

And it was closing soon, forever.

Some books could be saved if I chose,

So I scuttled off on this endeavour.


And in the dream were many rooms,

Dark chambers, choices to be made,

And there were more books

Than I alone could ever save.


And in the end the two I clasped,

To my chest, emerging into the light,

Were handwritten stories by unknown children,

Written by candle at night.


I woke before I read them properly,

But emerging, I said something to the sky.

Out of all the famous authors and books,

I chose these two unknowns. Why?

These weren't great works of literature,

Not written by a well-known name.

Unlikely they were to

Be famed and know acclaim.


But should that mean their voices

Deserved to be lost for all time?

Surely to lose them forever

Would be humanity's crime?


The others, they had other copies

Of their books, their work, their names,

But these were the only copies

Of these books these children made.


And that's why they were important,

They were original, unique, and only.

If destroyed, the world would lose them altogether,

And that sounded like a loss, too lonely


To be allowed to occur.

And so I clasped them tight,

Those handwritten books I never read,

Taking them safe into the light.