[Lest anyone be misled, I still love reading very much. This poem was written a decade ago describing my frustration when reading seemed to be more of a pain than a delight. Thankfully, that’s not often the case.]

I am puzzled as I read
This dense book. The words radiate
The heat of midnight. (It is summer.)
My soul’s enflamed, but not enlightened.

Why no meaning drawn from page?
The fault may be my mind has aged.
So fruitless is my mind’s endeavor
To grasp the light. I now surrender

To the forces we can’t tame:
Like age and pain, like rage and shame.
And Time – a vortex in the brain –
Sucks up all life. No thoughts remain.

I am done reading!

Copyright 2011 Dennis M. Cortes

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