A Study of Reading Habits

Through a study of reading habits, I roam,
A valley of horehound tomb, a quiet home.
The view from high windows clears my sight.
While ambulances haunt the edge of night.

Annus mirabilis, a year of bright turns,
Where breadfruit ripens and cut grass burns.
In days now gone, faith healing soothed my pain,
A nook where the dock grows marked gain.

If hands could free you, Heart, I’d find release,
Yet ignorance steals the mind’s sweet peace.
From love songs in age to love again,
Each line recalls the bright ache of pain.

Money may bind, modesties may soothe,
But, mother, Summer reveals my youth.
In maiden name lies the life we forget,
As for Sidney Bechet, jazz lingers yet.

In the stillness of dawns serenade, fears arise,
Continuing to live beneath empty skies.
At grass, we ponder, at an air-station, wait—
Arrival feels late, yet love seals our fate.

I’ve begun to remember, I remember, and more,
Reading library odes, unlocking every door.
From lines on a young lady’s photograph album
To letters and thoughts where memories succumb.

The reflection of the best society, I see
How maturity shapes what’s meant to be.
Home Is so sad, yet memoirs can heal;
Life’s sharp deceptions—soften, reveal.

Dublinesque streets sing songs to the lost,
While church going questions faith’s heavy cost.
In essential beauty, I seek some grace,
Yet how distant the truth in every place.