*Author Note* <br />One of my favorite things to do is curl up in my aunt's library over Thanksgiving with a book of prose or poetry and satisfy my literary cravings. <br /> <br />A dusky ambience full of silent laughter, <br />The scents of coffee and pipe smoke, <br />Overstuffed leather chairs in a circle, <br />The Masters along the walls beckoning, <br />Their words invoking the inner thoughts, <br />Philosophy, poetry and prose, <br />All bound by crackling leather, <br />Musty perfume tempting the senses, <br />Creamy pages dog-eared with love, <br />Bindings raggedly charming, <br />Dust motes dance across the air, <br />Not daring to land upon the sacred sites, <br />The holy pages of the old and wise, <br />Whispering their knowledge to the willing, <br />Listen closely and hear their words, <br />In this most holy of places, <br />This hushed shrine to the Masters, <br />So sink down into a chair, <br />The Masters wish to speak, <br />To speak their lives’ works, <br />Filling once empty spaces, <br />With thoughts of humble beginnings, <br />To speak of wars and peace, <br />Of hate and gentle love, <br />Listen to nature and mankind, <br />Hear the words lovingly crafted, <br />Feel them fill the empty spaces, <br />Shiver with the beauty of it all, <br />And listen to the secrets of the world, <br />Spoken from the pages of a book.<br /><br />Shiloh Thompson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/literary-beauty/
