Ode to the Novel

You thirst for the completion

That opening this trove of

Treasure can – will – bring.

Beyond rhyme or reason, you

Know only the clots of ink

Will satisfy you.

 

You crack its spine, relishing

In its dusty, primal scent,

Its papery flesh.

The lifeblood of literature

Spills over your hands, congealed

Already. You eat.

 

Gorged on imagination,

You drain the dregs, bittersweet,

Head tilted backwards.

You cry yourself to sleep, scared

This is the only way you’ll

Feel emotion.

 

So you stroke it (bloated, full),

Creativity’s creature,

A drug; side effects

Include nausea, distress,

Sleeplessness and sleepiness.

You are tainted, quenched.

So, my life has been quite hectic during the past few days (if you’re interested, reading this article will help — the children involved in the accident were my brother and two sisters, one of which has a broken rib, contused kidney and had to have an operation on her abdomen), but it’s nice to take some time out and work on a bit of poetry. Plus, it also knocks over some homework for my Creative Writing class. Two birds, one stone…

Any feedback or opinions are greatly appreciated! I’m a tough cookie so don’t be afraid to really tell me what needs fixing, what doesn’t work, etc. Thanks for reading!

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