Time, Life and Books

by romAntics

To be a book on Bonita's shelf,
Gazed upon, held and nothing else.
Existing to open and share a story -
A vantage point, a promontory
From which to look through moon-glass eyes,
To stretch out and tickle the soul's inner-thighs.

For what does a book do but study its reader,
As facts and fantasy rush up to meet her?
A two-way street though the one only knows
In what direction intelligence flows.
The content will differ between each set of covers,
Unique and inspired as naive young lovers.

Used and indulged 'til a purpose be suited -
A benign existence to which it is rooted -
The book nevertheless possesses a spine,
Sans nerves yet vital as yours or mine:
It has no brain, on its own will not travel,
But still tells its story 'til ruined, unraveled.

And as I lay beneath the stars,
Considering distances not so far,
It seems unfair that within easy reach
Lie plentiful titles for Bonita to breach.
On the table of life I lay waiting to share
My owns facts and fantasies with those who will dare.

Dog-ears I have not -small wisdom I do;
For her also a heart most faithful and true.
To look past a cover, a label and time,
Employ intuition and read 'tween the lines.
For books can only take people so far...
There are places beyond words, believe me there are,
Where communication exists most profound indeed -
To get there one grows, to grow plant a seed.
How fitting, then, that books come from trees:
Nature it seems, does provide keys.

For inspiration abounds within lifeless pages,
As thoughts of poets, dreamers and sages
Remind us that no human's here long
And though *we* may not, our stories live on.

Returning in time to that sweet sagging shelf -
A thick, thin and colorful expression of self
On which no resident has gone long unnoticed
Amidst neighbors assembled from corners remotest.
All have the luxury of being caressed
By her fingers, as bright eyes undress
The true meaning inside that each does possess.

Pining away in site of myself,
Ah to be a book on Bonita's shelf.


©2004 romAntics

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romAntics writes from San Francisco, California.