A tale of pages

A cover that's so fancy,

ornately gilded and bejewelled

Yet your pages are mostly empty

and it seems your ink has pooled

 

Recycling well known images

in a cliched sea of brands

Picture perfect images,

airbrushed to meet demands

 

My cover's worn and weathered,

for its felt the seasons touch

Dog eared from many readings

made to bypass history's clutch

 

One hand made into many

The breeze blows voices in this ear

Stories spill into the borders,

then they're lost and disappear