Reading

Reading

You either have it or not, much like vocal ability.
The pulsating love of text, the chemical rush.
The euphoria. Feel of pages, smell of it all.
Endless wonder of next, coupled with who says it best.
You remove a dustjacket -- to see the spine of it.
"X" off certain days on the calendar [local used book sale].
Equate a best vacation with a memorable book.

You either love to read, or have bad memories of school.
Find yourself recalling the exhilaration of an assignment.
Or not. Homework? Involving some quiet time?
Interestingly enough -- this has become my specialty.
A preferred weekend, to be thusly immersed in genius.
Send me to my chamber with a tome. Please.
I put my spine back on, when choosing a bookmark.

You either are innately silent in a library, or are not smart.
Humanity squeezed every ounce of its being onto these shelves.
Shut your gob in that presence, and read something, fool.
If nothing else, re-read the first sentence of this poem.
It may seem at first that I am equating reading with singing.
I am not. A step further friend. 
If you do not read, neither should you speak.

-- © Ciprianowords, Inc. 2012 --