Marcel
He visits me, actually,
several times throughout the day
Especially when I desire
intriguing conversation
It’s as if he appears almost
out of nowhere
Like I conjured him up with
some love-sick spell
He gazes into the portals of
my soul with orbs a shade of fall’s leaves just before the green
escapes. His smile perpetuates my smile.
I become lost in him until
life’s little familiarities abruptly cause us to part ways
Then instantly, I begin to
calculate the moments until I encounter him again
He’s so wonderful; he exists
on several planes
But mostly in a state of
subconscious is his presence most intense
His kisses and hugs are more
vivid; and his laugh is so crisp, well, it reverberates throughout
my mind long after his chuckles have stopped.
I am convinced that he was
created for the sole purpose of pleasing me
But it really doesn’t matter
how, when, why, or where he exists
He’s the man of my
dreams—Marcel
Tattered Pages
The book lay face up on the
coffee table for many months
Longing the day that someone
would pick it up
The cover had long ago lost
its luster
For it was constantly used as
a coaster or the prop for nightly TV dinners
People came and people went
Looked momentarily, but never
took the time to open it
The children came and the
children played
They tossed it back and
forth…tore the pages
But the book was strong; it
stood the test of time
The book like all books had a
purpose in life
It had meaning and a mission
to enlighten minds
If only someone would just
take a look inside
Then one day someone came in
intrigued with the subject
And suddenly felt compelled to
learn more about it
Flipped open the cover and saw
the tattered pages
Chose not to judge and read it
anyway
A variety of emotions soared
as the person took the ride
And at the end of the journey,
on their face was a smile
Pleased with the outcome, the
book had to have a new place
One that was dry, cool,
elevated, and safe
I guess there is still hope
for books with tattered pages
