Between the Bookends


One more book filled the shelf

tired, old, worn

antiquity framed the pages

gilded like so many lover’s shields

and this on pages

 

Rhymes float from one to another

a dialogue of love and hate,

perhaps new

only phrased differently,

dangerously

like the words we should not have spoken

 

Even the written word can sound loud

 

But always is the apology

in each book, novel, journal

of why we write

what everyone is thinking

 

Pictures portray themes

slices of reality shaded then faded

not accurate really

only, hopeful reality

 

Questions remain

answered or unanswered

still I return

looking for more

flipping through pages

of you

 

So many books of reason

lit dimly by my reading lamp

but titles become clear at daybreak

its own table of contents.

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