Just have to post this poem by Opher. I SO feel the same thing with my books. Sometimes I sit in the room with the bookshelves and I can hear them whispering to each other.
But Opher’s poem says it all. This is for all the book lovers out there…
Conversations with the dead
Today I was looking at my rows of shelves
Where I still have conversations with the dead.
Yesterday I was sharing a joke with Vonnegut and laughing silly,
Having sex in the woodshed with Lawrence,
Getting high with Kerouac in a Mexican Brothel
And shooting at fascists with Hemingway.
I speak to them through the years
And they communicate with me.
Their immortality speaks volumes.
Their words never die.
Their thoughts and dreams are precious.
Today I was looking at the rows of lives that line my mind and rooms,
That shared their imaginations with me,
Who advise me still, inspire and enthrall.
My life would be so much the paler without their words in my head.
I learn so much, am so moved, by my conversations with the dead.
Opher 27.4.2018
Impromptu Promptlings 
Like your poem there, Opher.
Strangely enough, I’m reading a book at the moment called, “Suicide Station” which details the afterlife place of Jack Wallen’s (the author) imagination. Just saying.
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Never thought of it that way before – but love the idea – conversations with the dead. I’m going to hold on to that, I really like it.
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I know! Great, eh?
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Thank you for the reblog Cheryl. Much appreciated.
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I found something for you when I was reading Rilke this morning… I think you’ll like it. 😀
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