Give me a spine dresssed in cloth
Ridged, furrowed, and jarred.
Give timeless lines too poignant to vanish
and a name embossed too hard.
Give stormy streets, and ne'er sleepy
or too morose for rapture.
Give screaming voice and burning fire
and so sculpt me in grand stature.
Give me mataphors of vaulted nights
breeding darkness in it's wombs.
Give deceit and lovers and hushed
encounters in drowsy lamp-lit gloom.
And give me passion, oh! You must!
Make me rich, tearing and deep!
So that when we are discarded
They may curl in thought and in our wake
They may hear our voice and weep.
Comments
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I am a book junkie. I like the way the look on shelves. I love the thoughts that I get when I look at a book that I have already read. I even enjoy pointing out the ones that were terrible.
This is a great poem. Thank you for such a nice read.
Mike
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