About six months or so ago, I discovered the pleasure of reading. I was not looking, I just stumbled upon a beautiful book and I started gazing, then seriously taking upon the new found love. I became a different person. Inside me there became an excited being, ready to read more. I was slow, I was choosy. But I started to dream again - to live once more, as the book(s) became alive in my mind.
But I was scared. Reading was not my passion nor I profess to being highly literate in the ways of writers and lovers of great literature. An ordinary person, I just wanted to enjoy, to discover new words and minds and merge them into my own world. I was not being pretentious, and saying, I am a great reader or lover of literature.
But, I found another happiness, at last. Could it go on? I sure wish it would.
As reading is new in my heart, poetry is something I've always loved.
THE ROAD TO A HEART
by Gener
They say it is laden with ice, your heart
Because it doesn't bleed,
But it pumps wild at prose and lit
Even bloats at the sight of knightly tales
Or future Gods.
How can one reach a bosom tool of life
Encrusted in diamond and gold?
Or weaken the veins that make them bold,
Warmth the red cells and make them drip
Bit by bit,
Until they coalesce into a new fruit of love?
It is paved with glory and aches, the road to a Lady's heart,
The trenches and spikes you've erected
Are high,
The moats and bridges
And guards carefully laid,
While you gaze from your castle's tower
A demeaning smile
In your lips.
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