The Bookworm: Poetry


The Bookworm's attempt
at connection falters
between thought and 
spoken word

Rather like a lamp
whose potential radiance
is locked inside an 
unplugged cord

His voice in the hallway
was like a lofty siren,
the pen stilled in her
hand despite resolve

She remembered Him,
eyes like stormy shade,
a smile two shades
past mischievous

When he entered
the room with that grin,
it was all she could do not 
to stare with idiocy

So she hid behind
intellectual aloofness,
showing nothing
and trying not to stutter

He asked about a book
she'd been reading,
saying his career made
reading for pleasure near a sin

All she could think was,
"I'd read them to you."
Outloud, she nodded sagely
as he departed smiling

For He was a familiar stranger
who would not know this secret
and her journal would 
certainly never tell:

The Shy Life.



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