Shelved
The bookstore is a bit dark Maybe even a little musty Calling forth narratives Long forgotten The books lie on the shelves Some with tattered edges Some untouched for years Tales long untold Offering themselves up Waiting to be taken down Pulled from the shelf Hoping worn binding Is handled gingerly Not wanting to be judged For a less than perfect Or an aged exterior Each waiting to unveil itself And unfold the stories Timeless Ageless Craving the immediacy Of a tentative touch From a loving hand Ready to explore What lies within