The Interface

Books make visible the writer's soul

Which bleeds its angst by pen:

Spread thin across life's whited bowl  

A thin red stain of madeleine


Books may offer us an author's eye

That ensnares the reader within its brail

Or should writers light the reader's sky

And tear apart the shadowy veil?


Books will hold the writer's thought

And bridge the gap twixt pen and readers

A mystic link so carefully wrought

To blazon unicorns among the cedars


The writer's flame burns bright with drama

As ashes from a tortured mind combust

For in the writing there must be karma:

Finding peace in a little heap of livid dust


With thanks to Proust, Baudelaire, Auden and di Lampedusa


◄ Cathedrals of Words [1]

Eastbourne ►


<Deleted User> (19836)

Sat 28th Jul 2018 18:07

A really well written poem. I especially liked the last stanza; it was very powerful. Thank you

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Taylor Crowshaw

Fri 27th Jul 2018 19:46

Hi Chris, I enjoyed the way your words evoked my emotions. I started it with a lump in the throat and ended it with a smile.
Thank you

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Darren J Beaney

Fri 27th Jul 2018 15:40

Wonderful use of words Chris - very nice poem!



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