[Image from PerformingArtsandBooks]
[Inspired by Joep Beving’s “Sleeping Lotus”:]
Though she might read –
build castles in her mind,
grand estates with grander gardens –
reality was crumbling away
and loss entire not far behind.
What was, was going now;
dust on the passage of time.
The heights of glory powerful
becoming sweet memory kept close to mind.
These books were a medicine
to her, with side effects.
Though nourishing, a cruel ache
crept up on her, in bed at night awake;
realisation of the ‘never to have again’
an insomniac cordial of fear.
Yet, to stop wasn’t an option:
in those pages – mingled with the words,
the texture, and the smell – was, at least,
[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]