A Book
What we refer to as a book, is not the book itself,
But rather it’s potential, as it sits there on the shelf.
An invitation to explore what lies within its cover,
To spark our mind, new worlds to find, so much there to discover.
Just like a sheet of music, with marks of black on white,
When read those words soar into life, and launch our thoughts in flight.
A symphony of feelings, provokes imagination,
And conjures up such images of magical creation..
Or like a seed which germinates, and gradually grows,
As we read beyond those opening words, and inspiration flows,
It creates a complex construct which branches and expands,
To take us on a journey to unknown, wondrous lands,
Where characters live out their lives, creating a recital,
First promised when we took that book, attracted by its title,
And read the opening stanzas, encouraged to explore,
To follow where the tale leads next, to open up a door,
Which takes us ever onwards as the story blooms and grows,
Immersed and fascinated as we move towards its close.
A book of poems feeds our minds, words move us and inspire,
A range of raw emotion which may lead us to enquire
Into thoughts and fervent feelings, provoking us to think,
Perhaps to lead us to a precipice, to peer beyond the brink,
To somewhere unexpected, where our heart can reinvest,
A heart that only beats when placed within a reader’s chest…
But rather it’s potential, as it sits there on the shelf.
An invitation to explore what lies within its cover,
To spark our mind, new worlds to find, so much there to discover.
Just like a sheet of music, with marks of black on white,
When read those words soar into life, and launch our thoughts in flight.
A symphony of feelings, provokes imagination,
And conjures up such images of magical creation..
Or like a seed which germinates, and gradually grows,
As we read beyond those opening words, and inspiration flows,
It creates a complex construct which branches and expands,
To take us on a journey to unknown, wondrous lands,
Where characters live out their lives, creating a recital,
First promised when we took that book, attracted by its title,
And read the opening stanzas, encouraged to explore,
To follow where the tale leads next, to open up a door,
Which takes us ever onwards as the story blooms and grows,
Immersed and fascinated as we move towards its close.
A book of poems feeds our minds, words move us and inspire,
A range of raw emotion which may lead us to enquire
Into thoughts and fervent feelings, provoking us to think,
Perhaps to lead us to a precipice, to peer beyond the brink,
To somewhere unexpected, where our heart can reinvest,
A heart that only beats when placed within a reader’s chest…
Copyright © Michael McCarthy | Year Posted 2018
Art Aimee Stewart
Art Aimee Stewart
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