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WE ARE BUT READERS

Did you find life in those pages you flipped?
I have read them from cover to cover too
There is but, the variety in letters
In words and in numbers.
In fonts and in contents,
In color and in shapes.
And then you see it clearly,
There is not one difference
A book is a book,
Papers covered with colored back
And we are readers!

Experience is the better teacher
We were made to go through a routine.
To rigmarole around a cycle
Only to return to our starting point.
Love is like a dragonfly,
It blooms beautiful and wilts in a twi.

We are treasure hunters living on gold
But goes mining in a faraway land
When the rocks of our homes are
glittering diamonds.
How we seem to always sacrifice
what seems to be for what is.
Like goblins for treasures,
we fall for trends
that is just momentarily facade.

Did you find answers in those pages,
Because I found one.
It is that I miss home which is,
The color of your eyes and the taste of your lips.
The calmness of your throbbing heart
in a warm embrace.
I miss home where the feet might leave,
but not the heart.
Sweetheart, you left a picture
hanging on the ramparts of my heart.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of my title?
How was my language use?
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
How was the beginning/ending of the poem?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Hello Drey, interesting poem. I shall have to return for another read. For now, I will only say that you need to shorten it quite a lot. You have many extra words that can be tweaked out for it to run smoothly.
The title is fine and so is the content, spacing and all else. Enjoyed, Gracy

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

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