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Poetry: What Literature Feels Like

Updated on April 3, 2016

Feet atop supreme mountains

Diffused stars a spectacular curtain

Those heavenly cursors

To another point of self-retreat

Gazing into infinite darkness

Devoid of dreariness and eeriness

The lingering silence assures

A quiet seat

No eyes read your story

In your riddle of self-discovery

The key you hold to your heart’s inside

This is what literature feels like

The delicate breeze whispers

Into your ears its fervor

It beckons

Spread your wings and fly

You never reckoned

How freely you indeed can soar

Nothing’s a bore

It’s discovery and more

No frontier, no threshold

You’ll ever find

Nothing can you not behold

Oh, this is the privilege of the erudite

This is what literature feels like

It’s a complicated piece

Yet it’s easy to achieve


If you let it own your heart

With no pretension

Embracing the odds

Leaving the roll to the gods

Like a child

Pushing boldly

Weaving though the Nile

Oh, my mind and my body

They’re separate entities

Like day is to night

This is what literature feels like

You are the speaker of the words

Though them life you did not give

But now at liberty to drift

On its timeless essence

Stealing like a bereft peasant

Sailing further from or deeper into

Naïveté, nodding to sensibilities

Tossing your head to wit and humor

Shedding tears with the damsel

Who, of you, was her reprisal

The amenity of the inconceivable

Your soul uncontrollably devours

Nourishment for both will and might

This is what literature feels like

A closure that does not close

For mind and heart creates another dose

Subtle at times

Basking in the hazy sunshiny road

Lethal when expectations do not rhyme

Something in the making

Conscience struggling and aching

Practicality somewhat missing

Truth and wisdom aside

To crown the noble knight

With a conclusion

Writhe without foundation

What a tear for a futile sight

This is what literature feels like

Oh, what a voyage it can be

Being pilgrim of unduplicable identity

Footprints irreplaceable in thee

All pursuits incline to the hour

Your elements placidly acquiesce

To be devoured by the feast

Emotions and sentiments du jour

Everything inessential but the soul

Then I resume my rationale

On account of existing scholarly

To do service to my merit

And radiate from my rightful seat

Amongst the clerisy

Indispensable for a life inscribed

This is what literature IS like

May 2013

© 2013 Carmen Beth


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