I Sit Here and Read
Cozy and snug
with a book by the fire
and with candlesticks lit
a cup of tea at the ready
the deep-cushioned chair
is my refuge tonight
a purring cat
and crackling logs
a mantel clock
ticking away
marking the moments
that I sit here and read
and dream through my book
as words come and go
weaving their printed spells
calling me deeper
into a world somewhere far
a world I once knew
and want to know
again and again
the lamp on the table
shines upon pages
yellowed with age
worn with thousands
of constant turnings
with eager hands
wanting to get
to the next chapter
and the next adventure
and the next moment
of comforting satisfaction
as I sit here and read
hours pass like minutes
and minutes like hours
time is useless
and numbers on clocks
have lost their effect
for the stories
bound in gilded leather
and printed on presses
of yesteryear
have tales to tell
memories to share
secrets to reveal
to those who listen
and listen carefully
with their eyes
and from the depths
of their being
as I sit here and read
consumed by
carefully crafted
sentences
and paragraphs
that lead onward
like a journey
that has no end
for it is the pleasure
of exploring
and eking out
the hidden gems
of syllables and words
that were conjured
eons ago as if
out of thin air
and into sounds,
shapes and meanings
that fell onto paper
and were given birth
by ink, sweat,
visions and forms
as I sit here and read
and sip from the cup
and sip from the book
that nourishes
my longings
to know about
all that is known
and unknown
between cover to cover
never noticing
the sun rising
or the sun setting
behind drawn curtains
that keep the world at bay
and my hungry,
searching soul
firmly ensconced
in this deep-cushioned chair
as I sit here and read,
as I sit here and read.
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