I mentioned a while back that I would drop in from time to time, pieces of my own work.
This is something I wrote many years ago. It's called The Reader and I don't know why I wrote it, but I think I was just musing at my computer one day allowing a stream of consciousness to simply flow out of my fingers...
Here it is ... hope you like it.
Take my hand and lead me there, to places near and horizons far. I see them, touch them, sense them and know them. Tasting their wickedness, succulent and sweet, I gorge myself on decadence; indulge myself in richness.
The Orients, the Africas, the Americas; the deserts, the oases, the mountains and the valleys – they are the juicy morsels you serve on your tray and I accept them to gratify my greedy urge.
You carry me home down dusty roads, to wood-fired stoves and newly baked biscuits on cooling racks. The beeswax and lemon, old wood and frayed hearth-rugs, warming me with their familiarity, there is comfort in their simplicity and there is intimacy in their embrace.
My heart beats to the rhythm of the verse, my blood pumps to the strains of the prose. Olde Worlde, new world, fantasy and romance, sci-fi and mystery, lay them bare before me and I shall live them all.
While your words speak, your voice gives life to real emotions. I vibrate with your love, your passion and your reverence.
I share each experience, know each thought, I feel all and feel nothing. I have all and I have nothing. I can be all and I can be nothing – through you and your guidance.
You give. I take.
You hurt. I weep.
You laugh. I rejoice.
You offer. I accept.
You are the writer. I am the reader.