Between all the Pages
I have a problem with my eyes
Being bigger than my brain.
I mean I have a weakness
Of owning more books than water makes rain.
I purchase them by the dozen
Whenever they’re on sale,
At the local bookstore I buy them galore
Smiling inside without hesitation or fail.
No subject too large or near too small
As I stack them high on shelves and walls
In bedrooms, closets
And out in the hall.
They’re down in the basement and the attic as well,
I admit I’m addicted to even the smell
Of an Emily Dickinson, Thoreau or Frost,
Or MK Rawlings, whatever the cost.
I love a good mystery
But history’s my fav
While God, religion, and good grammar
I always crave.
The problem I have is reading them all
Cover to cover whenever they call,
Morning or evening, midnight or midday
Surrounded by books and all that they say
Keeps my mind moving and grooving along
And points to some places I’ll go when I’m gone.
The day when the angels come ‘round up my soul
I’ll think of these books as silver and gold.
And leave them to someone who
Might even see
Between all the pages
A man like me.
Copyright © Terrell Martin | Year Posted 2024
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