I own books so goodso brilliant
so magical in mood
I don't read them
oh, I've read some
enough
to know the fear
a fear so overwhelming
I can't turn another page
read another line
and forever
sticking upward
a bookmark
a reminder
that I must never
will never
confront my fear
the fear of finishing
the fear of ending
the fear of leaving
a good friend behind
for as long as
the bookmark
remains
for as long as
pages remain unread
my book lives
beckons flirtatiously
to caress the mind
that caresses mine
and so, these books
and I
dance the dance
of glances and smiles
the waltz of fingers
and pages to dip
of delight held
anticipation growing
so upon my shelf
the only books finished
are the ones
I want done
want gone
the relationship over
kaput
finis
terminated
to my others
flags waving
as girls smiling
as arms open
I hold dear
these loves
beyond continent
beyond time
eternally alive
pages to turn
stories to unfold
paths to travel
vistas to view
oceans to sail
6 comments:
I love this post, really interesting on one would keep the book alive by not fully reading it, feeling its call.
TKX, thanks for the visit and the kind words. As strange as it sounds, I hate to finish a good book and I find a certain sadness when I do. Conversely, I find a odd sense of comfort when a good book still has pages to turn. Poorly written books are more apt to get finished so I can put them away and be done with them.
Since first learning, this is perhaps your most lovable trait. Pure Poppet. The poem as written and as it describes is absolutely marvellous and just as lovable. At least for now, this is what fills the mind as it is read and a little like what you describe, one doesn't want to analyse, to elaborate, on what is so pure and complete. I love this poem, every detail, every word, every meaning, entire. More to come.
Thank you Sweetest. You've been missed terribly. :-)
I must begin, and who knows yet if I will get further than this, by reiterating just how endearing this trait is. It attests to just how large your capacity for appreciation is, of just how deep your heart, and it isn't that you are afraid that the writing will touch you so intimately, so profusely that you suspect you may not recover, in this you would not be alone, perhaps not in relation to books but certainly I believe there are many who would be able to identify, to nod in shared understanding, but rather that you want to hold on, to not let go. This is wonderfully individual, eccentric in the most endearing of ways. I could love you always for this alone. :-) It reveals so much about who you are, not in clear, definable facts, but rather like an illustrated cover of a fairy tale, the gates to a fantastical, mysterious world, of magic and adventure, of long journeys and joyful returns. So beautifully written, as the expressions surrounding anticipation. Anticipation seems always to win over temptation, and I am sure there are books that you will never finish for this very reason. This poem shows your most winning smile and it is entirely contagious.
Sweetest, your comment is nothing other than sigh inducing. Thank you.
Poppet
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