Just doing an experiment to see if you guys like any poetry or any of mine. I was in France when I wrote the next few I'll be posting.
Hidden in the whispers and
fallen leaves of turned pages.
Piano sighs floating from room to room,
folding notes into ears of readers
listening to their favorite author.
I turn to love letters and odes,
to literature, to the mere act
of ink on page, on stories whispered in minds
on epic adventures only imagined.
A place to clean the gears, sharpen
the writer's whetstone.
A place to call our own, un societe des ecrivents.
Find your stillness.
Strive within. Reach
the farther side of subconscious,
the undercurrent of society.
We feed on the dreams, on your
life stories. On pillows of fate,
we slumber the day away.
Come breathe the life of book glue
and painted ink, of
black and white made opaque.