Solace in the Pages

Silence speaks in volumes from the pen ...

I have always loved the smell of leather-bound books

with gilded edges gleaming gold for all to see,

pages creased in corners, wooden shelves, secret nooks,

and words that gathered soft a solace around me.

With words to give me wings, I would soar left to right

until the world and all its woes would fade away

until sun doused its flame and flickered into night

and the moon in me would dream until break of day.

I would quickly lose myself between the pages

flying fast as the winter wind or seasons’ roll

to forget about my past and coming ages

until I settled safe within my sacred soul.

A once-fragrant rose is pressed into poetry.

A smiling picture is tucked safe away inside.

A lock of his hair and a letter left for me

appear in secret then squirrel away to hide.

I have always loved the wisdom of the sages

and the silence that speaks in volumes from a pen.

There is a solace to be found in the pages

in the lamplight when I am lonely - even then.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Fabian G. Franklin]

This was very beautiful and resonated deeply with me because I'm a devoted bibliophile myself. I bought a book awhile back, The Pageant Of English Prose published in 1912 in perfect condition and signed by the owner, one Mary Isabelle O'Sullivan and dated May 20th 1913. I did some research and found that she was about 18 years old at the time and later became a published author. The old book was published by Oxford Press and over the years her signature actually bled a shadow to the next page. I bought a very old Bible once and found a lock of golden hair in the pages...things like that just delight me, to dream of the things these books meant to others; how mere words on pages can be held so precious through generations even as those generations pass. My apologies for my rambling review but I felt from this poem those same sort of feelings; like something that connects the reader to the writer and all readers to the work. It is most certainly the reason I write and the reason I could do nothing but write whether there were another soul to read my words or not.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I completely agree and understand. My love of books started when I was a child. It was a safe place for me to hide. I used to walk downtown to a little book shop called 'Grandma and Grandpa's Paperbacks,' and I would clean the store. In exchange, they let me take a bag full of books home. Within the week, they were all read; and I would return, clean the store, and scurry away with my bag of books. My mother used to get so infuriated. I can hear her yelling, "Put down that Damned book." My love of reading evolved into my love for words and my love for writing. It's an irreducible passion, impossible to deny.

[Fabian G. Franklin]

Love that story. My mother read poetry to me. She collected poems and put them into her scrap-book. I was always being chased off the front steps (and out of my books) and back into the fields to work.

[Kesch (Finding Julia)]

I sincerely loved your second verse a lot. This is so good. It's amazing what one can find among books. Awesome write

[Alessander]

I love the intimate atmosphere you set up from the very first stanza

I have always loved the smell of leather-bound books

with gilded edges gleaming gold for all to see,

pages creased in corners, wooden shelves, secret nooks,

and words that gathered soft a solace around me.

I also think you're preaching to the converted on this site! lol

I think we all love books and how they can transport us to the sublime, or how they can even heal us when we're hurting.

You do a great job of capturing the essence of sitting there by lamplight or fireplace, sipping a cup, and losing oneself in words.

Lovely.

[yuhee]

Nothing could be more beautiful than to be inside the world of books. Love this poem.

[Randall Russell Toll]

Very well written. I enjoy the fact that it speaks the truth about how writers feel when they write.

[Tom Float]

I genuinely mean this... the most beautifully crafted poem I have read on this site in the few weeks I have been here. I absolutely adored it. I don't want to write forever about it because that would subtract from its deftness, but thank you for sharing this.

[bluessadmood]

Ohh how lovely..from faraway..distant places
From cold icy places to very hot humid distant lands..how we could gather,and how easy we agree and feel the same,how I understand you..through those words you talk about..
Words have always been a great shelter..when the crazy world out there would not come to reason...
I follow you advice words..how you take me away and far to distant places..where I could find joy ..words understood all l had to say ,just as I bathed in all variety of all them said here and there as if they were like mine..so many I read felt like my own words and thoughts..how we came close..knowing lots good souls thinking like me dreaming of a better life so serene..what Comfort, what solace..really I could fly away with them words..
Lovely write

[Cory Barrett]

brilliant how we not only create memories from the read pages, but also how we leave behind a piece of ourselves.

[Sheila Kline]

Oh what a comfort a book may bring; in the dark of night, and in the light of day, in good times and in those that are bad. You describe your ongoing affair with the lines on the pages, your secret hiding place for special keepsakes, and of how the wisdom of the sages speak to you!
A wonderful summation of the value of the time taken to read words which fill books!!