A Used Book (A Poem).

I prefer used books
pages yellowed with age
stains of coffee
smelling of baked bread
crumbs embedded
into the glue
of bindings

On this page
tears fell
hearts were broken
a reader’s trust
woven in two.
Another page
dog-eared and highlighted
wisdom shared
and eaten
and brought to life
with flesh and bone
tendon and sinew

These pages smell
like home
ancient in the way
that parchment can be
the only fragrance that
draws a soul
outward and pulls it
longingly into the past
where school desks
and raising hands
come back into

I prefer these pages
to be lived in
rather than hospital
clean and crisp
untethered and
void of hands
clasped to words
that penetrate the
wounded heart
and opens
gray matter to
create new groove
of thought.

They are the
well-worn paths
the fields of
ripened grains
of dreams bared
and dreams
yet to be imagined

Give to me
that used
that treasure
of human
and I will
give in return
this battered
dream that
dances on the tips
of anxious fingers
caressing brittle
and dancing
to the song
of ancient

O, let the



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