The Book

The dark

The room

The candle, I held it

So I looked

I listened

I stood, in awe

I stepped into the dark room,

 Empty all but the endless shelves of books,

I sniffed the air and savored the aroma of the aging volumes

The ambiance

The scent

The silence- foreboding or anticipation?

So I walked

I stopped

I stared, for it was a sight to see

I walked father into the great room, empty all but for the shelves of books,

 I sniffed the air-

 Savoring the aroma of the aging volumes

The wonder

The bliss

The awe, as my eyes beheld the books

So I basked

I breathed

I anticipated; what kind of treasure would I find?

Standing before the tall, sturdy shelf

 I felt an overwhelming sense of reverence for the tales and thoughts

Contained only by the pages bound and held aloft

The adoration

The anticipation

Submission in the precence of the ancient beauties

So I searched

I sought

I grinned, for my eyes had found such a gem

I saw the thick, old book

It was high on the dusty shelf

 utterly untouched

The excitement

the yearning

The elation, what did such a book contain?

So I grabbed

I opened

 I read with ravenous thirst

Oh the joy of inspiration

Sparked by those ancient musings

I read until the sun crept up

The light

The fatigue

The overwhelming mirth

So I stopped

I closed

I stood

I walked

I turned

I stared

I smelled

I shut

I left

I smiled wide, for every moment had been worth a world of bliss