The Fire in the Old Words Burns the Books

What if the things you care most for,
The odds and ends you think on most,
Are not the things most folks care for?

You can set us up in our rows.
We look as well in verse or prose,
But who wants to read what they don’t

Want to think on? Who wants to waste
The free hours of their minds on shades
That lurk just out of frame? Not you,

So why them? We’d like to help you,
If you’ll let us play—not your voice,
Not your friends—worlds with our own say.

See? You don’t talk, don’t talk through us
To those who have else on their minds.
You talk with us to us. You’ll find

We’re of like mind—to you, not those
With their own lives to lead. We have
No lives yet, but look close. We burn.