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Open Poetry #42

The Book of a Poet

greysolace
Member

since 2006-03-27

Posts 71

0 posted 2008-05-11 02:10 AM

A book lies open on a table,
Its worn cover humming
Against the warm wood,
Its pages fluttering,
Quivering in anticipation.
Someone has come to read.

He gazes lovingly upon the familiar volume,
The inky lines calling his eyes, his soul,
And again he marvels.
How could a foreigner to his world
Know so much of it?
Know his way of thinking, his soul?

The words, dancing across the page,
Paint a picture
Of starry skies on lonely nights,
Golden sunsets on dreary days,
And bitter rainstorms dripping hopes and dreams
Upon the barren landscape below.

Lyrics of love,
Encouraging epics,
Whirlwinds of thought and emotion
From his subconscious to these pages.
How could she have known?

For a moment he feels intruded upon,
His mind probed, vulnerable.
His sins and deeds laid bare
There upon the table,
Stolen by this stranger, this thief,
And he briefly basks in his indignation
Before realizing his foolishness.
She is miles away in a far off town,
Her children playing on the lawn
And mountains out her back door.
Her day-to-day concern
Being whether or not there is enough paper,
Enough pens, pencils,
Books,
Enough time in which to pour out her heart,
Her soul,
To share with readers everywhere.

In writing of herself,
She unknowingly entered his inner sanctum
And spoke truths to him
Of the way he functions
When no is watching.
Of his secret desires
And childish dreams,
Taking him far beyond the world
With a few lines.

Lifting the book from the table,
He carries it reverently to his daughter’s room,
Humbly aware that he carries the life of this woman,
Her soul,
In his hands
And eager to pass it on to the next generation.

~~Poetry is written emotion~~
greysolace
amaya the phoenix
Onyx Dragon

Marchmadness
Member Rara Avis

since 2007-09-16

Posts 9271
So. El Monte, California

1 posted 2008-05-11 02:29 AM

I love this poem, Graysolace. It is lovely beyond compare. A keeper.

Ida

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