As I entered the serene library,
The rich smells of old books,
Mixed with the scents of new ones,
Enveloped me in an intimate embrace.
The crinkly sound of ancient pages
Accompanied the crispy turn of fresh ones,
Laughing with each flip.
The silence was a cold night’s fog,
Eerie, yet calming.
The walls chuckled quietly,
Watching the books that conversed,
Following the people that strolled around.
The shelves groaned,
Pouting prettily
Under the weight of the books,
As old books
Welcomed the new ones.
Thousands of pages
Surrounded me,
Each a creative mystery
In its own way.
Thousands of books,
By thousands of authors
From all over the world,
With unique life stories,
Moulded by their different experiences.
So many unknown novels,
Just waiting to be devoured.
So many talented authors,
Just waiting to be appreciated.
And so many aspiring writers,
Just waiting to be inspired.
