William Michaelian

Poems, Notes, and Drawings

The Books by My Bed

This is a very old poem, from a lost, undated manuscript, which was later typed on my old Royal and also lost, or likely discarded. Earlier today I found I’d included it in an entry of One Hand Clapping, the lines divided by slashes. It’s a curiosity at best. As no other record exists, I’ll file it here for gentle guests and future laughs.

March 29, 2020

 
The Books by My Bed

 

1.

The books by my bed
are full of words
I do not comprehend,
yet how I love them,
like people I know
whose hard shells
hide a thousand shades
of complexity,
that once revealed
become rivers of light
and dreams that penetrate
the farthest depths of space.

 

2.

The books by my bed
are full of people
I do not comprehend,
yet how I love them,
like words I know
whose hard shells
hide a thousand shades
of complexity,
that once revealed
become rivers of light
and dreams that penetrate
the farthest depths of space.


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