*Author Note*
One of my favorite things to do is curl up in my aunt's library over Thanksgiving with a book of prose or poetry and satisfy my literary cravings.
A dusky ambience full of silent laughter,
The scents of coffee and pipe smoke,
Overstuffed leather chairs in a circle,
The Masters along the walls beckoning,
Their words invoking the inner thoughts,
Philosophy, poetry and prose,
All bound by crackling leather,
Musty perfume tempting the senses,
Creamy pages dog-eared with love,
Bindings raggedly charming,
Dust motes dance across the air,
Not daring to land upon the sacred sites,
The holy pages of the old and wise,
Whispering their knowledge to the willing,
Listen closely and hear their words,
In this most holy of places,
This hushed shrine to the Masters,
So sink down into a chair,
The Masters wish to speak,
To speak their lives’ works,
Filling once empty spaces,
With thoughts of humble beginnings,
To speak of wars and peace,
Of hate and gentle love,
Listen to nature and mankind,
Hear the words lovingly crafted,
Feel them fill the empty spaces,
Shiver with the beauty of it all,
And listen to the secrets of the world,
Spoken from the pages of a book.
Shiloh Thompson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/literary-beauty/
