It Was the Word After All

Wrapped into a cocoon of impenetrable meaning and faith he followed the light Doom and gloom had once shadowed his library of dreams and contentment Scattered in his loony resemblance of a rational mind words rearranged reason Analyses can be paralyses when parables and images leave inclinations behind On a scrap heap of garbled projections irrational rationalizations and repression Tobias lifted his weary bones from a rocking chair next to the fireplace of passion Surrounded by words written on actual pages he settled for days in the night Dust had gathered on poems and fables great words of legends and scribblers There were simply too many pages to turn revisit and explore for the book worm They called him a loon and bedlam was a good friend just as the literal works He had once been a young man of many impressions expressions and hunger For learning understanding comprehension and an unquenchable thirst for more It had all started with Pippy Longstocking and Famous Fives’s escapades and There was no escape route from caves and quest for memorable anticipation Robinson on his island The Little Prince Plato’s Cave and the Never Ending Story His hips had crumbled one leg was now shorter than to other and he limped Held on to bannisters and a stick as he hobbled through a Theatre of the Mind Mens sana in sana corpore ‘Carpe diem’ as he tried not to trip over the kilims ‘If I slide one book under one of my feet there will be equilibrium and harmony’ Book titles and covers a few manuals and a whole encyclopaedia of wisdom Shelves all over the walls for ‘ex libris’ post scripts and forewarning letters Summaries epilogues odysseys even epitaphs collected all for the same purpose Some on the desk some under the bed and piles everywhere in leaps and bounds He could not choose elevation at pure random and thus he went with his heart The pedestals under his legs got taller and taller and he reached for the ceiling Time ago he had draped oriental rugs from the plafond which he now vaulted Firmly suspended under a seemingly weightless canopy of decorous carpets Draped onto silken threads knots and the sheer beauty of pattern and purview He gazed in awe and astonishment at more leather-bound volumes of charm Jules Verne’s Travel to the Centre of the Earth and the journey was his own 07th March 2019