Library

Yellowed pages

numb to the rejection

of never being turned,

oppressed to the tight shelves

they have come to call home.

Time mutilated by

the labyrinth of writing,

which all looks the same

though each one is different-

different languages, different stories.

Wandering souls

hoping to find the answer

while being lost

in the endless expanse

of scratched wood

and tattered spines.

Ripped pages

anticipating being chosen

and continuing to

proudly present their stories

contained within.

Echos and hushed laughter

being silenced by a look

of disdain,

and not daring to

take on a

librarian’s rath.

New pages

hoping to be read,

asking for their own corruption,

awaiting to adopt

the distinct smell

of pressed trees

stained by

sunlight, hot drinks,

and tears.

-savvy.b

#poetry