Dust dances lightly in beams from the sun

Dust dances lightly in beams from the sun,

a library whispers, where stories are spun.

Pages long faded, their edges worn thin,

a sanctuary’s breath where old worlds begin.

I wander the aisles, feeling time’s gentle weight,

each title a doorway to somewhere innate.

The musty scent lingers, a spellbinding call,

inviting my spirit to rise and to fall.

Light filters softly, a hush blankets me,

in the quiet I find what was lost, what could be.

Every spine cracked open, a memory shared,

a place where the silence is perfectly bared.