"Reading
Me Like A Book Again"
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
Sunday, November 26, 2006 1:00 p.m. pst
Studiously
careful, yet calm
Steadfastly complacent, yet cautious
He removes the yellowed book from it's shelf,
blows the dust motes from the binding.
Time's history
Elusive meaning,
Cumulative emotional forces
And random thoughts from the Universal
Cleverly written in overwrought passages
Yet somehow missing the heartbeat
of happenstance until with trepidation
he begins to read.
He settles
into the chair of channelling,
Unstable, yet sublimely comfortable
Unsure, but steadfast
Opening destiny's diatribe
And beginning to read his life's meaning
Written as magnificent metaphor
But easily perused, purloined, and forgotten.
Liesurely
turning the pages of memory,
Pinpointing the moment when anticipation turned into regret
Myriad thoughts sear the brain,
Causing hurtful decisions and dread awareness to resurrect
Gloom and
glory reside in between the lines
which contain many half thoughts and illusory arguments
Winners and losers
Family and friends,
Workmates and wastrels,
All characters in life's depressing and brilliant drama,
Parading across the pages
like the simple shadows of reason.
Chapters
are filled with past yearning and present nostalgia
Words spill effortlessly from the ether of shared moments
with souls gone but not forgotten
and someday souls who haven't yet perished
Subtly changing the face of now
into the wishes of forever.
He reads,
enraptured again and for the first time
as memory flows steadily into realization
and time stands as still as granite mountains
seem to be
until the last words are written.
Doubtless
the book ends,
and falls, unwarily beside the lap of the reader,
As he closes his eyes, and his book, for eternity.
Poetry
2006
