Omnia Verba

Friendship, the greatest bond. The connection of people, forged in admiration, love and respect.
The sharing of oneself with another mirrored in the receipt of all they wish to share.
A girl, no, the girl – a bare foot beauty delicately walking on my dreams.
Imprinting them with the unique wonder she holds.
Willow wrapped, hand outstretched, a gaze that sees past a point of focus, rests rather on the distant abstract where her thoughts can be explored.
Such mystery, a complex tome on the highest shelf awaiting exploration.
The boy reaches up, gently cradles that which he considers most precious in this world.
She, the book, opens before him – all he thought he knew or understood is now irrelevant, for in her he finds true meaning.
The complex contradictions of existence laid out in her language of love.
Does she really know the perfection, the absolute perfection in these pages.
Nothing is perfect, save the imperfections of that which is loved – and the boy does love her.
More than perhaps she realises, for what she has done to him he struggles to express.
He carefully thumbs the pages, soft delicate attention, with the greatest respect.
Her skin reminds him of the night of angels, when he touched the wings of the world.
The manuscript is complex, but concepts stand out: beauty, grace, strength, resolve, freedom, artistry, independence, thought & of course love.
Themes to form life on.
Chapters consumed, for he cannot stop – bibliophile perhaps, more a junkie of her words alone.
These pages speak to him like no other book and he has read many.
The content, well structured, passionate, a refusal to accept definition or to conform to expectation.
Her DNA does not accept, it redefines everything in her image.
She is delicate, beautiful, female fascination – but the power she holds…
My 6’4 boy frame a feather in her hands, the acedia of demons she draws her katana.
She dreams in daisies, her ability to conjure up all that she desires transcends dreams though, for she is limitless potential.
The mere thought, the conception of an idea – the spark – all words are hers except for impossible, for nothing is.
The boy holds the book, whispers softly in its ear, “you are so beautiful” he traces his hand along its spine and hopes that she feels the sensation.
At the bottom, the lower back two words “omnia verba”.
His lips utter both with adoration. Soft, warm, he can almost see her hair in her hands, held to the side as she turns her head and looks backwards and downward to him.
Two words form on her lips but he cannot distinguish them clearly, he recognises letters, two “P”s – a smile breaks across his face.
Eager now he returns to her pages, examining further the pain she has felt.
It saddens him, but he understands pain, for it has touched him too.
He understands also that pain is part of love, for one cannot truly understand love without fully understanding pain.
Duality again, everything has an opposite.
Her pain will always be present, but as he holds the book he knows and believes he can be it’s opposite.
The book lies open on his desk, looking upwards to the sky, he knows she will like this, a gaze to origin, a gaze to contemplation.
For all her wonder, and celestial constitution she is earthly, connected to those she shares herself with.
Easy on the eye, easier still on the soul.
His head is weary now at the closing of the day, he lights a cigarette careful not to let embers light on pages.
He rests his head on her cover and he imagines her hand clasping him closer in return.
His thoughts, this book he will hold whenever it lets him, when it gets close to the edge of the desk his hand will be hovering at the edge.
He will cherish it always, read it daily, and allow it to influence all that he writes.
In the book he has found answers, in her he has found love.


~ by Paul McGovern on June 24, 2011.

3 Responses to “Omnia Verba”

  1. An epic poem. One for the books!

  2. I would never have thought to liken a book, a tome to a woman, to sensuality and love, and yet you had the courage, the imagination, and the incredibly lucious language with which to do so. “Nothing is perfect save the imperfections of that which is loved. And the boy does love her” ” My 6’4 frame a feather in her hand” where does this come from, this beauty of language? It comes from knowledge, from deep heartfelt pain, from human sensuality, from longing and love of women and words. Intense, emotional, very sensual, cerebral, beautiful, genius. One of a kind talent and creativity.

  3. Addendum to above: The language, altho sensual is so delicately wrought, it falls from the tongue like chocolate lace. This from a man whose heart is as big as his frame. Bravo!

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