Haiku VI

Haiku VI by Fred Slusher

Dreams never show the 
correct path to a broken
heart, you die alone

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter and Instagram @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

© 2021 Fred Slusher. All rights reserved.

Quote for the Day: August 27th, 2021

If you get close to what you love, who you are is revealed to you.

Ethan Hawke

Today’s quote resonates with me in a very profound way. I think the most beautiful thing in the world must be witnessing, or better yet experiencing, certainty to purpose. So many of us stumble through life chasing things that don’t really hold any value, but when we find something we love, we’re fools if we don’t grab ahold of it and never let it go.

We only have one shot at getting this right. One chance at deciding what matters and who we’re going to be.

My hope for myself, and for all of you reading this, is that we have the courage to wake up every day and choose ourselves, to prioritize our dreams over life’s routines and mundanities. We only have one shot at getting this right. One chance at deciding what matters and who we’re going to be. The stakes couldn’t be higher. Live—and love—with no regrets. Or don’t. It’s up to you.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please like, comment, follow, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at fred.slusher@thevoraciousbibliophile.com or catch me on Twitter and Instagram @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

Original Poem: Last Night I Dreamed of Snakes

Last Night I Dreamed of Snakes by Fred Slusher

Some people believe the only way you can

know God is to prove to him that you’re not

afraid to die.

They were writhing, 

wriggling their way through

darkened halls & hidden

crevices. I am a small world

made large every night.

And the guns, they don’t work.

My great-grandfather held snakes

in church, offered them up to God.

My, how they danced together.

Strange language, dancing to the beat

of impending eternity, to a sound only

they could hear. Holding death that close

just has to be holy—a desecrated lullaby.

Some people believe the only way you can

know God is to prove to him that you’re not

afraid to die. In the dream, I’m going under

once again. Silence is an art of the most

hallowed & hollow solemnity. Oh faithless

love, oh desert, oh fracture, oh quake, please

caress the fear from my windows where

layers of shadows ensconce me in

false protections, mirages & mists & secret

songs taught only in the dark. There is this fear,

this shroud covering me. There is this sway,

this truth. There is this serpent slivering its

way out of reach. There is this enormity.

There is this heresy. There is this

sorrow. There is this cataclysm

raining on the living. There is this

violence that lives in the soul & chokes it

just so. There is this madness flickering

like a lit match in a dry barn. There is this

burning. There is this roof that’s corpsing

itself into a glorious & effervescent ruin.

There is this scream that imbibes blood like

water.

Thanks as always for being a faithful reader of The Voracious Bibliophile. If you like what you see, please follow, like, comment, and subscribe to my email list to get notified of new posts as soon as they drop. You can also email me at thevoraciousbibliophile@yahoo.com or catch me on Twitter @voraciousbiblog. Keep reading the world, one page (or pixel) at a time.

© 2021 Fred Slusher. All rights reserved.