the book
In dizzying mind, she made her way into an empty room.
A large book centered upon the floor.
Tired footsteps clicking forward, she sits upon a carpet of dust,
and stares in wonder, how it came to be, the only thing left behind.
Beautifully bound, and pages held within a metal lock,
time scattered with rust.
The red cover, reflecting upon her fair skin,
casting a blushed appearance, glowing above her deep eyes, displaying thought.
Two tall large windows taking in the rays of light that passed above and beneath clouds,
shimmering over her hair, and along her dress, that held the same golden hue.
She reached up to touch the necklace hanging gently upon her neck,
a pendant, a key, some connection maybe,
to this book, and portions of life,
her heart has sought.
Could it tell all, in a tale of love,
in the deepest of passions, and each dream shared,
hand in hand, from the waking hours of morning, to the pleasures shared in the night,
falling closely into hearts touching in each sunset, could it tell all, in lengthy detail?
Or could it be, the epiphany, of a quest, saddened in broken heart,
where so many tears wash out the sunlight in once brightened eyes,
that have grown weary of an unknown place,
where the heart has lost its sight?
Questions perhaps, but not really wanting to be known,
this book left alone,
to this empty room,
granting reason to the wonder of it all,
best left to each moment,
given to this life,
lived within,
believed within,
between each break, in the heart of each page,
or folded within the arms of love lasting forever,
best known,
read between souls, within eyes.
The book,
still remaining upon the floor, in a carpet of dust.
Her pendant, this key, resting upon the surface, but such a tale, in the depth of her soul.
Years later, untouched, unread, this life, she lived,
with open heart, in all of its moments, within each break, and love lasting.
Windows taking in rays of light, passing above and beneath clouds.
Beautifully bound, covered in red, and a metal lock,
time scattered with rust.
– April Higney
Until a few days ago I had not heard of April Higney, until that is Juan Carlos Hernandez sent me a copy of Passion within. I had not heard of him either.
April Higney is an amazing poet. She combines her poetry with her artwork and it is the combination of the two that works.
Unopened Book taken from her blog.
Also see
Deciding on the Destinies of Others
Tags: April Higney, art, books, poetry, Unopened Book
