A small page rests on the still table
Crinkled and slightly worn.
Aging with a yellow tint, becoming feeble
Concealing its original content, which from the author, was born
I read the flowing words with interest
A picture is vividly formed and shaped in my mind
I feel as if I can see everything described within the page
My old memories and the story together they bind
At the puns and happiness I grin
Feeling myself becoming so engaged
Experiencing animosity for the character, which is a pest.
As I finish reading, I slowly return to my life
Trying to store the experience away in my brain
Attempting to remember smaller experiences I strife
As graphic elements touch me, and with the outcome I strain
And I ponder the story at random moments
I recall the story years later and I struggle to retell the experience
Remembering the unimportant details
Filling in the gaps with other memories, which make sense
And at some instances my memory flails
But, I'm glad I read it and my wasted time I do not lament.
-Jeff Harris
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