My Book of Enlightenment

Lying at the length of a human's head,

Width of a shoe box,

And weighing as much as a few pieces of bread,

Contains words of wisdom, words of care,

In its smooth beige pages that once laid bare,

Covered by a childish glare.

Tinged with a pungency of ink,

Once was pure, clear, and free

Now inscribed and scribbled on, and thought of as another being.

Confront it with sadness and despair,

And return being understood and repaired.

A therapist, a psychiatrist, a friend, these connotate

The insides, the problems, the thoughts, it renovates

In my room, near my rest, for its convenience,

For comfort and its words of lenience

Losing it will do me pain,

All effort and words would be lost in vain,

It's something I confide in and receive no disdain.

“How long are you going to be here for?"

"Until another era, to support and help, etc, etc.."