All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Death of an Immensely Good Read
Fur to threads, to cloth, to blankets, what pleasant warmth Letters in tandem create words
Words strung together form sentences
And if you do it just right
Those sentences can be made into Stories, and glorious they can be
They throw you a line
With the most tantalizing bait
No great wonder its called a hook
Once drawn in, there simply is no avenue of escape
Absolute obsession most certainly ensues
From there deep pewter pots
They brew up a concoction
It stirs and stirs and stirs
Stirs up every emotion you could have
Pulls a fiber from the very core of your being
Wrapping it tightly around
Their intricately cast spell
There is no such thing as unresponsive
When something is so beguiling
But, Is it cruel or sweet
To bind one thus
To ideas so beautiful
To worlds so relatable
To loves so strong
To triumphs so great
To ideas so unattainable
To worlds so distant
Such unrealistic circumstances
Of those realities so far far away
One couldn’t have known
What they would be shown
But I suppose
The wilted rose
Though spiked and dried
I would have planted
Again, and again
To see its splendid bloom
Its blood red petals, smooth satin velvety
Though my heart it tore
When I reached the other end of the binding
When the words stole that which they gave me
When the string connecting us was so carelessly
Pulled and pushed and plucked and very nearly snapped
To feel the wonderful things I felt whilst within those words
Those magic weaving, spell casting, potion brewing words
Which bring you so high up
So very high up
That there isn’t magic keeping you
From tumbling down
down
down
down
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.