| Photo credit: taliesin from morguefile.com |
share your soup, stroke your
arms, inhale your rare perfumes.
Books do not spit, love or scheme
for more. Books do not live
parallel lives. Books do not
pray or hold mirrors unto God.
Books do not die with regrets.
What books do is talk
endlessly. Not to you or
the sycamores or the china
cups, but to no avail at all.
Talk, more talk. Books have
something to say and are bound
to say it. Books equal
their words exactly.
Since my last letter I have
been a book or several books
together. I do not listen
or spit. I talk to thin air.
Books are and emphasize.
Nothing, they chant and storm
will ever stay the same. The
wind on everything, pages
turned, pages torn.
~ Barry Dempster
__________________________________
The scholar only knows how dear these silent, yet eloquent, companions of pure thoughts and innocent hours become in the season of adversity. When all that is worldly turns to dross around us, these only retain their steady value. ~ Washington Irving
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