Grace

If your gaze were but a book
Such intricacies would speak a look
And power behind that loving stare
Would whisk me away from tedious care
Of that mundane uninspired everyday
Enticing me to cavort and play
In the idolized light of your grace —
For where you dwell is Eden’s place

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Journey

I took
A leisurely stroll
Through the pages of a book

Russian Fairy Tales by A.A.

Illustration by A. Alexeieff, Russian Fairy Tales, 1945

Etched drawings dabbed
yellow, blue, and red
Prose that speaks
jewel-toned and scarce
Treasure hoards faraway tales
For Pru, Kim, and Diana
On Christmas 1945

Notes: The photo above comes from an actual edition I bought as a gift.

Secondhand Wisdom

In a book, a few hours encompass a lifetime
And the wisdom gained therein seeps
Like rain into soil
Forgotten and subtle, it may yet feed:
A seedling
A tree
A blossom and fruit

Hostage

I walked into a book
And was strapped down in a seat
Held hostage by a caffeine addict
Who had had no one to talk to for five years.
Maybe it was the miasma of the place
Maybe he breathed a hallucinogenic fume
Because midway through his rant
He began to make sense.

A Mental Exercise

Much ado about the written word;
How pleasurable is a good book
How steep a climb is one of varying quality
But the aftermath of both leaves a happy exhaustion
The mind tickled in places no longer starved for touch