at the back of the library
there sits a pair of dark wooden shelves
dust is caked across it
small fingerprints are etched on the surface
from hands of curious children
wanting to know why these tomes are hidden away
they hold secrets, these books
their warped bindings keeping
the words printed within safe and unseen
they are heavy and old
people are either drawn in for the mystery
or deterred out of fear
the dust, too, acts like a protection
warding people off, as if to say,
"these aren't meant to be seen,
forget they were even here,"
and it works
and the secrets stay safe
YOU ARE READING
Waves of Words
PoetryI want to spill all my thoughts, and share them with anyone who will listen. It's crowded in here. A collection of my poetry.
