What will happen to me
if I don’t read anymore?
Will other chapters open
I have never seen?
Shells illumine a beach
like sacred text?
Sails lift the sky,
filling up a void?
The inconspicuous poems of lichens
open themselves to me?
Will they satisfy a mysterious hunger
that never leaves?
How much do I learn from books?
Would anyone notice
I’m not current?
Will I grow numb inside?
Or, will another library
open up its doors?
You never needed me before,
it might say.
You were blinded by the written word,
though poetry tried to save you.
Let you drown,
so coming back
your heart would pound,
every breath be sweeter
than anything you’d ever read.
So you could feel love,
feel anguish in your fear,
and come back restored,
to a childhood that knew
nothing else but hope.
And dreams brighter than a galaxy.
A world
waiting with its dreams
to be read.