Realms
Names etched into an aged wooden table
Encased in a crude heart
Whether the persons are joined
As their names, cannot be said
Lost in the folds of time
On the table lays an open book
Scrawled with similar writings
Names of readers past, personal notes,
Faded ink of past due dates
A population of texts, volumes, storybooks and novels
Sit in repose on the carefully aligned shelves
Along with encyclopedias, lexicographies, and perfumed magazines
Used for leisure and reference by the souls that stroll within
I sit at the table, reading the names
Replace the names with mine and that of the one i hold true
Filled with the hope that as long as the names stay carved in the wood
So shall we be joined
I wonder into the world of words
Yet another traveler
In the home of the books
The passageway to other realms
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