A Poem: No

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