Untitled
By PJ
As it is opened, each turn is:
an inhalation, while I lift the pages,
laying them, to my left. It exhales.
As it reads, each word, brings:
a heart-beat. Sprouting, pushing,
it’s a life-giving blood: a story;
a tale; an enlightening; secrets, long held.
“Read.” As the reader’s eyes move,
the book:
quiet; still; says, to me,
as its heart beats.
As it breathes, life sprouts, in: the reader,
an intricate, slow, dance, bringing: inspiration. “I
live in these pages,” it exhales, as we inhale:
it’s tale: slowly, to the left. “Read, breathe.”
The book,
in it’s anonymous, anomaly; read, beneath, each
heart-beat, “This weaver’s tale…” and it reached:
drowsy, dormant, regions in my mind, that were
anomalous, sprouting, watering: emotions, inherited
versification, I couldn’t see, but felt, reading
the book.
3 Comments
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PJ,
Love this poem! Beautiful language and imagery. I also relate to this because books/reading really opened up my world and touches places inside that you never imagine until you get lost in a good story. You’re an awesome writer!
This is a masterful work of art, and the imagery really makes me imagine a book as a living entity. I hope you continue to use your poetic talents to promote reading.
PJ,
Wow, thank you for sharing this. You are very articulate, and this poem is so genuine. It is amazing the power words can have on us. Your words have power; use them to make a difference. Use them for good!
Keep writing!