November 9, 2009
The candle burns cheerily,
Casting a warm glow over the shadow of the room,
Emitting the sweet scent so reminiscent of home,
Shadows flicker with the light,
a war of space as old as time
The book sits on my lap
Begging to be opened
To poor it’s story into my head
Like drink pours down my throat
To let the story wash through me
Letting me give life to the ink and paper
The well-worn spine falls open easily in my hands
The candle is smaller now
And my eyes are tired
I care not though,
For the story is not finished
And neither am I

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback