Sometimes it feels like I’m rereading
A story written hundreds of years ago
That draws you in, an immersed living
Aged cover, worn, and familiar scent
You can smell the aroma of firewood
Yellowed pages loosen the typed text
But the true color and meaning hidden
Between the lines of what’s not stated
As if they’re a billowed ship of truths
Set sail but will never sit again in port
As wave upon wave spills over its deck
An esoteric blur for that safe cleansing
Horizon after horizon steadily breached
Sunrises thru sunsets…but never a beach
Poet of the Light © 2021
Find more at my blog poetofthelight.com
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