Those Who Love Books
by Merlin Missy
by Merlin Missy
those who love books understand
that all pages are sacred
that words are important
that the mind can form images
more precious than diamond
more hideous than burnt flesh
those who love books understand
how to live a lifetime in an hour
how to save a kingdom
what it must be to love forever
only if you have quested into Mordor with Frodo and Sam
guarding the One Ring like a prayer
only if you have wandered Eponine's Paris
longing for one word from Marius
only if you have sailed with Nemo
or Ahab
or Odysseus
and cried for the truth
hunted the whale
tasted Circe's honeyed lips
only then can you know
those who love books understand
that time travel is as simple
as turning the first page
that turning the last page
is like losing a friend
that returning again to that moment, that feeling
means only going to the shelf once more
those who love books understand
the thrill of seeing a beloved name on a cover
knowing there is no price but that must be paid
to steal inside the world another time
those who love books understand
the feel and smell of old paper
the sound of the spine as it sighs
yielding its maidenhead to a first lover
every woman is beautiful when she reads
every man strong and noble
every love is everlasting
every death can be undone with a kiss
those who love books understand
the need to own the words
the desire to rise at two am
hunting for a familiar passage
the satisfaction of rediscovering it
with each book you lend to someone new
a piece of your soul has gone wandering
with trembling hands, you press it into the grasp
of someone trusted, beloved
when it returns to you read it has doubled in value
for it is now a joy shared
he loved books
his house was filled with shelves
hardback, paperback, first edition, imported, used
fantastic dreams, impossible voyages
scientific marvels, harsh unrealities
these were his world
the starship of his mind adrift in countless worlds
he understood that magic was truth
science merely an excuse to explain what we already knew
everything possible did exist somewhere
even if we could not see them
unicorns, gryphons, dragons of pink and blue and paisley
he knew the joy of quietness
the shuddering sound of a page turning
a new joy revealed to the inner senses
his fingers danced upon every cover
coaxing their mysteries into sunlight
in the end there was no sunlight
only shadows and closed curtains
and silent rows of old friends
waiting for the final breath of day
before the new morning
they sold his books
in boxes, crates, brown taped and markered
they loaded the pieces of his soul
the auditors came, passed judgement over a lifetime
a few dollars per box
the used book store, home to unwanted memories,
took them in, separated them
scattered them to the winds
now I know he is gone
or
a picture, a crystal fragment of a time that could be:
a teenager wanders through the store
uncertain of her life her future what she wants and needs
sees the cover, picks up just one book
her world is momentarily opened to include
a disk upon the backs of elephants
riding a turtle through time
a hero upon a blue unicorn
a git in a bathrobe riding through space in a shoe
she opens herself to newnesses beyond imagination
(a boy becomes eternal friends with David Eddings)
(Steven Brust is given as a gift)
(a child learns the story of Saint Camber)
like a keeper of birds he kept them close to him
the birds have flown in a thousand directions
each a part of him
and so he lives on in a thousand ways
a thousand lovers of books
will look at the imprint upon the page
and wonder, who was he that loved this book so much?
the last page turns
I wonder if he saw the sun
those last few days
I wonder if he knew that we
will remember him each time
the page turns to reveal a new friend
knowing it will be a reflection of his face
smiling back
the story ends
not happily, but ever after
the book closes
11/20/97
