.
A door opens with creaking sounds,
inwards to a dark and cool room,
untouched for many hundreds of years,
barely a flicker lights the gloom.
Peeling decoration whispers
at a past richly bottled in wealth,
now nearly empty except for
a curious book upon a shelf.
Bound and covered in lizard skin,
with words that swim on the pages,
shades and shadows cross together,
spells cast by the ancient sages.
A long bony index finger
tracing symbols down an old spine,
pre-history condensed in leafs,
that unfold through space and time...
© Pagan Paul (09/11/19)
Nov 19, 2019
Nov 19, 2019 at 6:28 AM UTC
.
A door opens with creaking sounds,
inwards to a dark and cool room,
untouched for many hundreds of years,
barely a flicker lights the gloom.
Peeling decoration whispers
at a past richly bottled in wealth,
now nearly empty except for
a curious book upon a shelf.
Bound and covered in lizard skin,
with words that swim on the pages,
shades and shadows cross together,
spells cast by the ancient sages.
A long bony index finger
tracing symbols down an old spine,
pre-history condensed in leafs,
that unfold through space and time...
© Pagan Paul (09/11/19)
.
The Azuneas (Ah-thoo-nay-ass), invented by
me for this new mystery series of poems.
.
