The Reader

in #poem5 months ago

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she hides behind
the words
which are coated in dust
and pages upon pages
of nonsensical meanings
she hides behind
the words
that cover the page
and tell stories
of many years ago
fooling anyone willing
to try and decipher the codes
that hides her face
from shining


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she becomes the reader
as she escapes the pages
that contain her description
she becomes the reader
as she wanders through
the desert of barren words
now floating from the pages
no longer bound
by paper prisons
she climbs through
the mysterious channels
now reading her own existence
as poetic beauty


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I look at the body
escaping the book
she became the reader
whilst I tried to read her
she jumped from descriptions
to flesh
her words became real
her mouth contained the world
I could not even imagine
and now she read me
with a mouth full of honey
descriptions that fell
like seeds on dry sand
in the barren desert
only for a tree to erupt
through the odds
she becomes the reader
as I become the words
she becomes flesh
as I slowly disappear behind the words


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Postscriptum, or So the Tables Turn

I am always fascinated by the reciprocal nature of reading and art. The artist becomes the art; the reader becomes the writer; the poetry becomes the poet. We climb into different roles, we transcend our current position to become something more. As soon as the onlooker looks at the art, she becomes part of the art. She drenches herself in the artwork's meaning only to merge seamlessly with it. This is always such an interesting idea that keeps me busy. But the other way round is also possible: the artwork becomes flesh. I have written many poems about the artwork turning to life and in the process swallowing the artist who made it. A kind of poetic or artistic Frankenstein.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed the poem and that you could resonate with it.

For now, happy reading, and stay well.

All of the writings and poems are my own creations. The photographs are also my own, taken with my Nikon D300.

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Beautiful. If you are with a reader at all, you are blessed, and they bless you.

So true! Except for the bank account. Reading is not cheap and we have very few second-hand bookshops. But it is the best blessing in the world.

Ah, I love you piece. Evocative and relatable. 🤍

Oh thank you so much my friend! I really appreciate your lovely comment.