Library

The ancient door creaks slowly open The dusty chamber is dimly lit Heavy air, aged and stagnant Seems to cling to me, hanging on Oaken floors moan with each step Protesting loudly this unwelcome intrusion Shelves lined with thick volumes Tomes untouched, from ages past Faded titles, out of focus Shrouded lightly in dusty mystery Somehow that book I seek Seems almost to beckon to me The heavy volume opens easily Its yellowed pages reveal their secrets Stories of an ancient time and place Tales of trials, tribulations, travels Of love, lust, laughter, loss Of home, hope, hate, heartache Yet these aren't Aesop's fables Nor the fiction of Poe or Frost For this Library is in my Mind And I'm reading my memories of You.