A maze of shelves,
front to back.
Volumes of books,
Soft and hard,
Alphabetizes and grouped,
by subject.
Smell first,
the pages.
The scent of,
fresh paper and ink.
In a corner,
I read.
Hours and books,
one after another.
Sanctuary and refuge,
Leave with one book,
a mind full of tidbits,
and rejuvenated spirit.
Restless is this soul.
The bookstores,
now dilapidated.
Amazon came,
and conquered.
No refuge now,
for the weary.
No smell of paper and ink.
Just the scent of plastic.
Pixils on a touchscreen.
Nothing to hold or feel,
except a thin Kindle.
The majority are content,
with the change in the
Me? I morn in silence,
for the old days.
Days when there was something
to hold, touch, caress, smell.
Lose myself into.
Seated in the corner of two
bookshelves somewhere.
Occasionally interrupted
by the gentle smile
of a cute guy,
holding a book.
It’s all gone.
Thanks, Amazon.


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