The Endless Library

Beneath the dust of time-worn spines,
Lie treasures vast, through prose and lines.
A million voices, loud and clear,
Echoing thoughts from far and near.

Each page, a portal, each word, a key,
Unlocking realms of mystery.
A ship to sail uncharted seas,
Or whisper truths on autumn’s breeze.

The weight of leather, soft and worn,
Holds empires lost and dreams reborn.
Its scent, a map to ages past,
A fragrant tale that ever lasts.

Within the margins, lives unfold,
Of love, of sorrow, courage bold.
Heroes rise and villains fall,
Their shadows dance upon the wall.

The shelves, a chorus, quiet, still,
Yet hum with life, with boundless will.
A symphony of thought and art,
That stirs the mind, that moves the heart.

A book is more than ink and tree,
It births what was and what could be.
Its pages bind a fleeting flame,
Immortalizing name and name.

The child who reads becomes a king,
Through words that teach and dreams that sing.
The weary soul finds solace there,
A whispered prayer, a breath of air.

Oh, endless library, vast and deep,
You guard the wisdom we must keep.
From ancient scrolls to tales anew,
A bridge of light, a constant view.

So hold a book, and feel its weight,
The stories waiting, patient, great.
For in its pages, worlds reside,
A universe where dreams abide.