No, no, no, no help
It didn’t come from loved ones who surrounded me like a cell
wall
Or
any offerings to be a beam to support me
it only came from the books – only the books
lending a helping hand with their words gently placed on
the page and they nestled up against me when the tide
came. The tide that took my sandcastles away
Those books laid next me anonymously and
Pressed themselves to me, embossing me and I felt their
presence and
THEY gave me hope
their hearts were found, fluttering to the beat of the
turning pages
The authors sighed on me when they saw the mirror
No, no, no, no it was none of you. You family of wooden
Soldiers obediently marching to an empty tune. No I don’t
recall ever seeing you. And I had really wondered about it
all of those years.
But a crowd was there, the dog-eared
Pages, the bright covers, you witnessed me in there,
Engulfed in the pain that stole me. You pack
Of books handing me back to myself and showing me
That I still existed.
I use my will to never forget.
Thank you
Christine... Doc
Copyright
Christine Wood
2002
