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.
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