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Ilhana Mar 22
It was in the library; the power was out.
Barely could remember, the anatomy of your face.
But one thing I do remember ;
Your smile, your blissful smile.

Can you kiss a smile?
I looked and looked again
And all I wanted is to kiss your smile.
Whether it leads me to vain,
The time stuck there ;
All I wanted to tell you how much it meant.
So pure; so childish and certainly for me.
The smile was for me; it is mine
Wasn't ******; wasn't funny
Wasn't some charm to put on.

It was just a perfect smile
Only for me wasn't for anyone else
Things never went smooth and never will,
Sometimes we meet
Sometimes decades it takes
But whenever it happened it remains the same
As it tucked into the timeframe.
The time, the smile, and the library
It Will never change,
Whatever happens,
Till my soul comes to an end.
In my mind, my charming sweethearts' smile
Will remain the same.
Amy Perry Feb 22
During this energetic renaissance,
People are the libraries
To unbridled, universal energy.
Concrete towers replace the ivory.
Leading up the bookcase,
Hands on mahogany.
When the hourglass flips,
So do the pages.
We feel blessed moment to moment
Throughout the ages.
abp & icp
Natalie Feb 2
The skylight tints the afternoon grey
And some dull, dusty oranges
Perhaps there's fire, somewhere far away
Somewhere far beyond the creaking shelves
The time-varnished brown, rusty door hinges

The air is thicker than the oldest tomes
Sticky as the darkest aisle
Where long-dead spiders once made their homes
Minds caught in paper, minds caught in webs
I think, if I think, I'll sleep for awhile
When people say "lost in a book"
few can know what it means
few are given the gift
to walk within the scenes.
To "get into a book" only takes a few pages
to step inside
and leave your body behind
and wish to never find your way back again.
To read is different to readers
those who have the gift
they do not remember concepts or words
they remember where they have been.
Wakeful and aware of my feet against the floor,
Alive in a vast labyrinth of precious tomes,
their pages soft beneath my fingertips,
Their covers defensively misleading.

How beautiful, really, to be able to read them,
Be it a chapter, a page, or even a few lines.
Reading deep into precious texts
that don’t know they’re being read.

Unaware of the stories, written out in neurons, told through fluttered lashes,
And the twitch of a nose,
Pictures painted by the wide sweeping motions of searching irises,
blind to their own vibrant illustrations.

Each story searches for its conclusion
within the pages of another,
Trying to navigate itself through an index
That is not its own.

Perhaps someday I’ll find such beauty in my own weathered pages,
when my spine has split and my text has faded,
When I am a complete person built of indented paragraphs,
an entire soul typed out in times new roman.
Grey Rose Nov 2020
I don't usually get stolen by temptation like this
But I would do anything to be devoured by this feeling
From the cover alone.. your every word overflows into my heart
Oh the Intrigue
I just want to know more than what your surface reveals
Oh, how I know your story will be riveting and passionate

The colors, they tell me
And gossip your characters into my ear
The feats they're capable of 
And the depths your philosophy stem from
I'd like to write them unto my wrists
And preach to everyone I pass the journeys you took me on

Oh, dear if you dare to open yourself unto me
I will not resist falling deeper into you
Your pages are limited
So whilst you have me.. while I'm within your folds
Envelop me into your narratives
And I will follow you on any journeys you seek

Don't get me wrong.. I don't usually lose sleep over something like this
But the lies and tales you tell me
Make me want to see this through to the end

And I desire not to be caught
Whilst I rummage through the exposed chapters of your epics sagas
Of our epic sagas
Not until .. When the last page turns
Before the cover lands.
Don't let the fall be final and resolute

Allow me to mark the ends of your pages
So once more we can return to our favorite climaxes
To be reminded of how far we'd come

And reenter your world that I invaded and built a castle in
Though the criminal I am
Do with my demise and pieces what you will
But don't forget my dedication to dictating your testaments

Don't get me wrong - it's not that I'm  sacrificing myself for your story
It's just that
Your penmanship is better than mine
Have you ever fallen in love with someone at a library?
Norman Crane Oct 2020
Reading at the bar
Drinking at the library
         —Henry Chinaski
A haiku for Bukowski.
Henry Oct 2020
Baseboards lined with spiderwebs
That shimmer in the slanted sun
Next to worn, wooden chairs
Feeling sturdier than ever
Shelves and shelves of
Outdated textbooks and encyclopedias
Crinkly and brown and yellowed
How many trees went into these pages
This forest rearranged
And defaced by movable type
Oct 5, 2020
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