The Weight of Knowledge

In the library's hush, my breath feels alive,

a sanctuary wrapped in the scent of old tomes,

where whispers of wisdom and stories derive,

from pages once turned in forgotten homes.

Dust motes dance in the beams of warm light,

like memories spinning, a soft, golden haze,

each spine a reminder of worlds out of sight,

where words weave a magic that colors my days.

I reach for a volume, its cover now worn,

the tale unfurling like sails in the breeze,

though time has passed since I last felt reborn,

in this hushed embrace, my heart learns to ease.