The books that are old,
weathered, and worn
are the ones to behold,
love, and keep from scorn

Crack their spines
and anytime could be the last
but you'll find
that pleasure floods your senses fast
from the breath of disused pages
emanating the dust of moths' wings
is contagious
as they sing
the words of a generation forgotten
a voice, a mind, a soul
misbegotten
to tell the tales untold
but not forgotten

never forgotten
as long as there are eyes
to soak them in before
they rotten
and sink into the neglected graves
overgrown and decrepit
a fate so many try to stave
yet so few manage in this day and age
of kindles, nooks, and electronic
books

a world on the verge
of betraying the written word
on pages that need to be turned
to resurrect, transport, disgorge
a once tangible strife
and give respite to the reader's
ever folding life