Books

Sometimes I get a heavy heart
when I think
about all the things
that people stow away
inside themselves
they tuck it away in little caves
cross there fingers and
feel as safe as houses
but even houses fall apart
creaky wood
and rusted nails
people are like trees maybe
all rough on the outside
but filled with a dreadful
amount of rings on the inside
how many rings you got?
or books maybe
really old books
a binding holds
all those pages
you were always tempted
to rip it off
right off!
and let the pages fly away
like swallows
set free from
the raging quiet
of their cage