Utopia

Candles flicker in the dark

Musty, archaic knowledge seeps throughout

Spines crack as books are opened

Rough, hard, bound covers with pages lay about

Eyes dart over yellowed pages

Drowning in every word

Hands run over the dusty covers

Holding them carefully; reverently-

As if they were a newborn bird

Nothing flitters through the halls

No crickets ever heard

Only the glorious silence

For which I yearn

Shelves upon shelves fill the room with books

It is a library—Where no one looks