Read Me

No one picks up a book like me.
My cover is worn and tattered.
You, however, flipped through my beaten down pages
And have translated my words .
My riddles intrigue you, but
have no rhythm or flow.
Good luck trying to whistle my tune.
The music between the lines is low, so
Listen close
Open your ears
They are the keys to my home of
Thoughts, feelings, and love.

Listening with ears is only half the challenge.
The melody is sweet,
But fleeting as the setting sun
Yet I can hear it growing still

For now it is sweet,
But sweetness can be sour underneath.
Be aware,
The taste is bitter

Bittersweet harmony.
Warm yet aesthetic.
It can be felt now,
Moving
Pulsing
Inside.