The Book at War, a poem by Acculo Dorcus at
Fred Kearney

The Book at War

The Book at War

written by: Acculo Dorcus


Your recklessness is portrayed
When your literate act benighted
You tear my cover, and I suffocate
You treat me with negligence
Yet you are the beneficiaries
If I die, you will feel the predicament
Erudites!, Why do you loathe me?
I, the vital writing prevalent
Yet you purchased me, with adulation
And am no longer a privilege cherished.

How indiscreet you are, learners
For bitter suffering, is all you confer
To me who capitulates, firm foundation
You drive me deeper into hell
I am a prisoner, with none to help
With spite, you mar my brain
You dump my entrails in filth
Which only beckons ignorance

Your future is in my hands
Without me, you are futile
All I plea is equanimity, with me
I beseech vigilance, in my stomach
Leave me clean, I will make you phenomenal
Provide me protection, to make you triumph
I will restore the wisdom, you desire
And I promise to impart proficiency, to achieve your goal

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