The Library Spell

Morning seeks refuge amidst the

yellowed paper and faded print

leather bound tales of woe

and joy.

Tips of fingers trace the

pinched in curve where

page meets page

of open book.

Ears oblivious to worldly noise

I crawl inside the words,

deafened by them screaming

an enticing spell

of verse and rhyme.

My back arcs over the 'A's

and 'B's, I coil within

the 'me's and 'we's.'

Loneliness a forgotten affair,

there between the bonds of book

and I

find my friend's who make

magic with mystery,

an illusion, of poetry and prose.

When I leave my shelter

of words that never hurt me,

I stretch past.

Limbs ache from time spent

cramped between them,

eyes adjust to the change in light.

The only evidence of the

library spell?

A star filled sky.