Grave Stone Binder
They lay there side by side
Each one dated upon a time line,
The names seldom repeating,
Unless cloned in duplication.
The brilliant white fades with the dust
Particles that cements them to rigid positions
That until opened, or in the spring’s library
House cleaning reveals the title binder.
Like a horizontal cemetery of dead authors,
This is more a vertical mortuary for readers.
Where the pages come alive in sparking eyes
That germinate thoughts into the womb of the mind.
It is the reincarnation of the author,
Baring time’s ghost play of graven words
Sharing the writer’s ancestral Uni-Verse
That sprouts alive generation seeded thoughts
In mental gardens of perpetuity of antiquity.
David Lester Young 12/09/10 ©