Monday, August 07, 2006


Never, ever give someone a book
if it will not be read.
It serves no purpose
A book unread is an idea dead.

For an idea is bulletproof.
It serves to protect,
a piece of magic.
But now it lies deep in neglect.
Beneath the siren call of work, comittments, family and all.
Waiting for its place in the sun.
Beneath summons to come work in the fall.
An idea, patient, waits till other ideas are done.

Magic doesn't touch all our souls.
Some already are slaves,
to the drudge of the daily toil.
Tasks to be done, people to meet,
things to write
and other such feats.

I though will read the book.
I will still be free.
There are some parts I cannot sell.
Some parts will always be me.