Insomniac Remedy

A series of eleven cinquain, written to follow "Insomniac Quandary" a few blogs back. A silly little sequence of poems, but it does help me find some level of closure at least.

*~*~*~*~Insomniac Remedy~*~*~*~*

One night

I found myself

in a cozy bookstore,

looking for particularly

nothing.

When I

came across a

most curious old tome,

it captured my notice and drew

my eye.

Bound in

worn leather,

scented lightly of musk,

it was not the manner of thing

I read.

Still I

took it in hand

intending a quick glance.

Surely, quick perusal could bring

no harm?

The book

was not at all

as I had expected.

It spoke of romance and hinted

of love.

I could

not put it down.

I slid down to the floor,

quickly turning the pages,

charmed?

Then an

abrupt ending,

with a deceitful twist.

The pages beyond were blank

and clean.

I shed

tears of sorrow

upon page thirty six,

but page thirty seven I did

not touch.

Those blank

pages are not mine,

they await another.

Its best not to envy that reader.

I'm fine.

The book

was then returned

to shelf. With shaking hand,

I paid a fraction of its price.

Six pence.

For I

found upon page

thirty six, the intent

of a certain cold and callous prince.

Goodbye.