Books of word in shaded writes not as other
Reading was penned. where wrote but black
Pages of nothing, words claustrophobic in tight
Proximity but never viewed on sights unseen
In either dusk or light. Gathered upon nameless
Shelves, dust gathered where words left unspoken.

Many fought the paradox of never reading these
Pages that pulsated In mystical thought.This library
Of books with neither word, but pages took the
Lives of many never a mark. But now their bones
Lie in waiting anticipation, now eyes hollow of
Needed words only grasping torn parchment.

Along she came silken gloves, garbs that cut upon
Fine curves, she walked with a look of cautious pleasure
As if  seeing but knowing what was beyond her sight.
Her only companion was a stick old yet shimmered
In a mirage of confusions light. For after she was beyond
Glares, her memory an afterimage upon others cares.

She had heard of this place of pages as dark as night,
Heeded upon thoughts of countless others who had
Pilgrimaged to this place, all faded from memories
Sight. "I wonder if a book can be read in darkness,
She sighed; and she came across this Old redwood
Door, in a redwood trunk as it stretched upon high.

Old door was neither of key or grip. She stood patiently
As rain shivered bones as night turned to day.
Thinking of how a door would be opened, Then a
Thought smiled upon her lips."Knock, Knock,
And that which was closed now let her in. The air
Smelt of old paper and the air was static and sweet.

She gathered her surroundings and where wood
Had greeted her, now there was but a view of the
Plentiful forest that stood outside. She reunited her
Thoughts of consumed panic and breathed.
Her stick she grasped and in words whispered, it
Shrunk to but a branch in griped tightly in her hand.

Noticing those that had stumbled or sneaked in this place.
Each a book or page in white closed palms, they were
Silent but told her stories of there fate. each page black
As if night had set upon them and sleep was like sinking
Sand drowning never to ever awake.

Once again words spoke upon a branch and light did  like
Firefly playing against this enlightened place. She scrolled
On pages of onyx black and where once a void of nothing
Her light gained access to the darkest palace and words
Shone in echo's of time. Bestowed on this beauty was
The key to words unspoken now glanced upon in sight.

"I will learn your words,
"Never revealing what others might,

The library now hidden, but a tree can be found in
This wood, and on certain nights fireflies dance around
It and play in moonlit fun. All the while a woman
Looks after words that heed great power. But in
The hands of light, words dance upon air into the night.