Their fingers brush along the spine

They clutch, and their fingers intertwine

An angry shake and they twist away

Glaring at the other, ruining their day.

Their eyes, in unison, lock on the tome

Gaze at it fondly, as at a weary heart’s home

It’s once gilded pages, now almost dust

And yet, to possess it was a must.

It’s dust jacket crumpled, corners worn down

In a condition that could make any librarian frown

And yet they both sought it, very much so

Currently staring down their rotten foe.

One cried that the volume held a tale

Of his ancestors’ adventures o’er hill and dale

Of a history silenced, a legend untold

Of mighty warriors, sailors, and heroes so bold.

The other declared that the epic within

Was of an army that had vanquished greed and sin

The victors had been widely known, and yet not truly seen

Their pain and sorrow hidden, but to the descendant keen.

And they realised they’d stood on opposite sides

As they did now, swelling up with pride

Their eyes with hatred burned

Oh how suddenly had the tables turned.

A mutual accord hung in the air

Together they held the book, and took it where

It belonged- cast into roaring flames

Not to divide anyone anymore- no casting blame.