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.
Peace, Love and Patchouli 