The Still Library of Knowledge

Layered mildew builds like layers of ripped,

ancient pages…

…pages desiring to be found.

My right berry-beige hand glides along the rugged,

faded brick.

Rain rushes…

…as if to allure me to Biblical-coffee time.

Cracked, espresso wooden rustic doors,

...glimmering from beneath…

…draw my eyes.

Ivory...

…cashmere…

…chocolate…

…espresso…

…and maroon books—

—delicately flowing with wise,

ancient woods…

...as if gravity is fictional...

…as if the words from the books themselves were ribbons.

The aged, chocolate wooden shelves envelop the books…

…as if the books were their own.

( Psalm 91:4:

He will cover you with his pinions,

and under his wings you will find refuge;

his faithfulness is a shield and buckler. )

I turn my head to the stairs…

…embellished with gentle, glimmering gold.

The ornate, enormous arched windows are tinted by the fog and droplets.

Bustelo cafe streams into the air as if the air was intricately painted with aroma.

One step after another…

…the fragrance in the air…

…as if beckoning me…

…guides me to a chocolate Oxford-like study room.

Ancient books…

..wrapped with aged-leather…

…flood the chocolate-oak desk.

The Bustelo cafe forms steam…

…fogging the interior of the arched window.

Ivory-wax candles…

…placed meticulously,

…illuminate…

…subtly…

…the mini study.

A rustic Bible with golden-tinted pages,

...the Holy Trinity opening their mandarin-coloured-translucent arms...

...waving me to peacefully sit down on the curled espresso chair.

It’s as if a supernatural smile is gently carved in the Bible...

...with beaming sunflowers flowing from the smile,

...to my nostrils.

(As if it’s the air I inhale and exhale).

I sit down with a contrasting concoction of giddiness and stillness,

setting my body weight on the chair...

...and open my ears and heart for the Word that will enter me.