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THIS WALL
Words fill the crevices of my mind.
Emotions that are too hard to find.
Love poetry trembles from my lips.
Your passion I can bear in small sips.
Behind closed eyes, I can still see your face.
Hard features I cannot seem to erase.
Filled pages fall from my open fingers.
The unspoken love sonnet still lingers.
Maybe I should burn my wall of pages
To help clear my mind of these wild rages.
In a quiet spot.
On a soft chair.
In the sun’s spotlight.
I will read a book.
Eyes wide open.
My mind set to explore.
Sunlight streaming in.
I will read a book.
Hands trembling.
Tears falling.
Sun warming my body.
I will read a book.
Books change me.
They influence me.
Make me theirs.
I become their characters.
I live their stories.
A long journey to become an author,
Days of soul searching and hard work.
The words need to be enticing and clear,
A bridge to the reader’s heart.
A movie camera sweeps across scenes,
So does a book’s point of view.
One point of view shows one angle,
While changing points of view reveal more.
To be lost in a book is truly a gift,
An escape from the mundane and boring.
A visit to far away places can be
An adventure to open your mind’s eye.
Once completed, a book is a treasure,
A symbol of the author’s hopes and dreams.
A confectioner’s delight to be tasted and savored,
To be remembered by the many or just a few.
Enticing.
Dark.
Deserted.
Dusty.
Eerie.
So many words
to describe the house.
Afraid.
Alone.
Reluctant.
Uneasy.
Too many words to describe
how I feel inside this house.
I will take it step by step.
One creaky step
followed by another.
Until I make it to the top.
What will I find there?
Creak, creak.
We will find out together.
Creak, creak.
Those weren’t my creaks.
I’m not alone in the house.
I’m leaving.
Bye.
Write your story.
Add all the details.
Include all the people.
Leave no event untold.
Leave no rock unturned.
Write your book.
Your life story.
Write it in blood.
Open a book for me,
Just wait and you will see.
Life opens its door,
So much to explore.
Words ring out so true
In colors like blue.
You will never know
If you let it go.
A perfect book for a summer day.
I will be reading it come what may.
Whether on the beach or in a boat,
I’ll be happy like a billy goat.
Vampires and demons, oh my!
It’s not a sweet lullaby.
Witches and darkness galore.
It surely won’t be a bore.
THE DEAD GAME by Susanne Leist
South Africa’s first-ever Book Hotel, the Royal, in Bethulie
Imagine a place like this.
The perfect hotel of bliss.
Endless books to read.
Nothing else I’d need.
Walls of books everywhere.
All you need is a chair.
Never run out of a book.
Just pick your favorite nook.
Read the day away.
Nothing else to say.
To be or not to be a writer
has been the hardest question for me.
Should I continue with my pursuit,
or step away and claim defeat?
One book was written,
one book sold.
It dances around on Amazon and Nook.
It reaches new heights in its niche,
and then it slowly bows its head in silence.
The highs feel good and lofty,
While the lows feel depressing and sad.
Is it worth it?
Is it worth the aggravation?
I am told that a writer must keep writing.
More books to dance around.
More highs and lows.
Should I keep doing this?
Will I keep doing this?
Yes, for now
as I wait for the next high.
