My Library
My neck crooked backward,
I stand between the stacks
feeling the weight of centuries,
the distilled wisdom of minds
who graced the earth with golden words,
words that pace the pages -
vellum, parchment, fine and common papers;
words, cordoned in lines, confined,
yet powerful tools to set one free,
a roamer far from home,
across universes,
beyond time's reach.
The light filters through high windows
downward to where I peer with squinted eyes
teasing out a jewel -
a title, an author, an adventure, a friend.
The air is charged,
the static of adventure,
heartfelt journeys of a hundred thousand writers,
their souls etched upon the pages
for ones such as I to stumble upon decades,
centuries later,
dream maps
thought castles,
imaginative quests.
Quietness reigns.
The elements of books -
leather, cloth, paper and ink -
infuse a rich elixir,
a mind expanding potion,
companion to best wine and oldest friendships
seasoned,
mellowed,
treasured.
© Faye Lanham Gibson, August 11, 2015
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