A scent of peace

I turn each yellowed page,

tattered and dog eared and loved by someone

I do not know

whose hands held this

and perhaps they too,

fell into the spell of words and stories

becoming at one

with the old leather

as they pieced through

perhaps finding themselves a part

of someones world

for just a little while.

The scent rises from the pages

yesterdays spent in unknown places

gathering dust on a shelf

and waiting for my fingers to pull it out

and open to find the magic

of a sentence that calls me

like a lovers whisper

a quiet plea to carry it away

to sit with it a spell

and breathe new life into the tired parchment,

to let if live once more in a mind

and perhaps to become a cherished piece

until I grow weary

or fade away into dust

and it once more will journey

into a tired shelf waiting a new touch,

wanting to be learned

to be heard

and loved once again.

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