Devil’s Book (1 Nov)

Books are great, books are fun,

They are a man’s true best friend,

They pique the interest of mind and soul alike,

Reading them is time well spent

Some tell stories, while others guide,

Yet others help bankers amortise,

But just as some are helpful, others are hurtful,

Not all of them help you maximise

A bibliophile, like you and me,

Came across a book unlike any he’d seen,

Astounded he was on finding its pages blank,

Never had he seen a book so clean

The blank canvas attracted him so,

He picked up his pen and wrote in it, he did,

For every sentence he wrote, the book wrote one of its own,

Fighting fear he wrote on, when he should have hid

All of the knowledge of all of the things,

In this vast, wide world,

Was now only a sentence away,

Making the boy joyously twirl

He jotted and he noted, 

He scribed and he asked,

Every question that came across his mind,

Learning everything his tiny brain could grasp

Hours turned to days,

and days turned to months,

Seasons changed outside,

The boy though was caught in a labyrinth

Green as the boy was, unburdened with reality,

Realise, he did not, that the book was evil,

For every drop of ink that he spread,

He bartered his soul to the devil

Soon his soul was spent,

And he was alive no more,

Tempting the boy with a shortcut to success,

Only helped Satan settle his score