The Hunter of Words
I was never a predator
until I discovered the prey of books.
Like the last call at the bar,
I tell myself I must finish
the current chapter
before closing the cover’s door.
My reader’s attitude never grows jaded.
Every re-read of Pinter’s Betrayal
is more bitter than before.
Each revisit to Narnia,
a fresh slice of Heaven’s sweet pastry.
For too soon the pulse of life is stilled,
And while, many say that at worst,
death is a nothingness.
I disagree.
At worst, it’s a place without books.
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