A lonely book upon your shelf,
Left to muse within myself.
Not so long ago your hands caressed my cover,
And your eyes above my pages did hover,
That is until you read the final page,
And placed me within this bookend cage.

Every time your eyes pass me by my hopes dwindle,
Of being ever able the passion to rekindle
Was your interest just a passing fantasy?
Is a one night stand all that's allotted me?
Have my words lost their allure?
This not quite forgotten existence mine to endure?

You pack up my neighbors to be given away.
Perhaps in some new hands to lay.
Alas, It seems freedom is not mine to achieve,
I want to go, but I cannot leave.
For I want your attention even more.
So I'll sit here while you find new books to adore.

Sit here and think to myself,
To afraid to get up off this shelf.