Done And Dusted

Those gargantuan books for the muggles

Are now done and dusted.

My eyes stare at the bookshelf,

All blemished and rusted.

Gliding across the pages of school books,

My fingers gone numb.

Curiously trying to refresh them,

But it might sound dumb.

The books I once admired

Are now blanketed with lignin.

"A dry cloth or a broom would dust them off,"

Said the inner voice of a pippin.

Here I cuddle with a good book,

At a dampened corner of the room.

A gust of wind hits this cursed

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soul

Who looks for some shine and gloom.

A world between those pages shone bright,

Am I the only cursed soul to keep it alive?

With no excuses, I plunged in

Like a bee pathing to its beehive.

I see nothing but memories

Those yellow pages trap.

Arose many tales of a naughty kiddiewink

Whose innocence rests on her mother's lap.

My chins vibrate with tears wetting those dusty pages.

A true sign of emotion hitting its extremity.

A nostalgic feeling comes in.

Water too has its memory.