I'd almost forgotten
How much I loved to write,
The lengths I used to read
The plots I dreamt at night.
I'd almost forgotten,
This feeling of surprise
Of warmth and heat
Of a book held tight.
A year has gone by
A year devoid of flipped pages
But I've rediscovered
Why I used to write about places
Wrote away the feeling
of betrayal and hurt
Jotted down happiness
for performance in this world
Read through the night, I did
of Duchesses and Dukes
in beautiful, beautiful love
like the summer moon
Now, standing here before my tales
My only love int he world
How could I've forgotten,
how much they're worth?
But now, I remember,
How much I loved to write
The lengths I used to read
The plots I dreamt at night.
Praise!
I finally remember
The feeling of surprise,
Of warmth and heat,
Of a book held tight
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I am glad you are back too, Meriam. I encourage everyone to write. It is a fun and therapeutic pastime