I read
The unsaid, the unheard
The silence between words
The space between breaths.
I read the slight sway
Of black berry leaves by my window.
The perched humming bird
Resting on those twigs, upon
Devouring those white blooms.
I read the miracle of those snow white petals
Morphing into ink black fruit.
I read the lazy lumber of snails
The filters of clouds that foretell
The sky's temperament for the day!
I read my teen's hormonal tantrums
The toddler's unruly demands!
I read the frustration
Of a stranger trying to cut me off
In a line.
The boredom of the kid dragged to a shopping spree.
I read without a personal narrative
Without filters of premonitions
Judgement.
I read with wonder
With awe, with love.
I then, read more -
The many symbols, the literal ones
Whisking me away to another world
That I might never see.
I read with tears welling in my eyes
With the bliss of finding words to my feelings
In a stranger's articulation.
I read the random abstract
With scary precision.
I pause and process
And realize
That I write
By the virtue of reading!
That's reading at a whole new level
When I read myself like never before.
I am glad
I read!
The unsaid, the unheard
The silence between words
The space between breaths.
I read the slight sway
Of black berry leaves by my window.
The perched humming bird
Resting on those twigs, upon
Devouring those white blooms.
I read the miracle of those snow white petals
Morphing into ink black fruit.
I read the lazy lumber of snails
The filters of clouds that foretell
The sky's temperament for the day!
I read my teen's hormonal tantrums
The toddler's unruly demands!
I read the frustration
Of a stranger trying to cut me off
In a line.
The boredom of the kid dragged to a shopping spree.
I read without a personal narrative
Without filters of premonitions
Judgement.
I read with wonder
With awe, with love.
I then, read more -
The many symbols, the literal ones
Whisking me away to another world
That I might never see.
I read with tears welling in my eyes
With the bliss of finding words to my feelings
In a stranger's articulation.
I read the random abstract
With scary precision.
I pause and process
And realize
That I write
By the virtue of reading!
That's reading at a whole new level
When I read myself like never before.
I am glad
I read!
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