dpbowman

The posings of a poet.

Novel


There is a book in each of us
            High upon a shelf
Emblazoned with the finest script
                        Simply titled: Self
As all good tomes it contains
            Beginning
                        Middle
                                                End
But most parts there are left to us
            To fill, edit, and tend
Beginning is always the Middle
                        Of someone else’s
 Tale
We entered theirs, began our own
            Oft innocent and frail
They stay on, most often, as authors of
                        Our fate
Bound with hope that we will learn
            To form our story straight
And then it’s time for us to try
            Our hand at a line or two
We make mistakes we can’t erase
But learn to write what’s true
And here is where the Middle starts
            And here the greatest feat
A book within a book begins
                        As we create a brand
                                    New
                                                Sheet
On these sheets truly lies
            The story of our lives
And we decide what theme we’ll choose
            What ends and what survives
And strangely this is where we
Write
            What others never see
In lines so small, but with such depth
            They define both you and
                                    Me
Others think they know us
            That to them we are well read
But, Truth be told, the margin notes
                        Show more than what is said
The End is not quite up to us
            Imagine what we may
We do not know the final word
The line,
               The hand
                               The day
As we do not choose our binding,
            Or how the spine will bend
Masters of our fate we’re not
            But this message we may send:

Answer this one resounding choice
  That lies within our reach

Decide the worth of your own book
                        Then author, read, and teach



Dan Bowman
11/18/2010
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17 thoughts on “Novel

  1.                    
    The End is not quite up to us
                Imagine what we may
    We do not know the final word
    The line,~
    wow~Dan u  know the whole world ~Yes! it makes me want to stand up and cheer…

  2. Too many people in the world do not know the value of their book…that is indeed the sad part…nice perspective on the theme.

  3. Dan, what a great poem – you are a true philosopher 🙂

  4. Great poems! I especially liked this one.

  5. Pingback: Marvelous Monday « Greencheata's Blog

  6. Between the lines were written ‘me’ upon these sheets to sail – rhyme to read and losses to avail – a chapter more or less than ever thought there’d be – an ending I remember shall be the death of me. ~ Love it, Dan ~ and love how reading it could inspire this response. Truly, thank you. ~ Love, Bobbie

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