the bookcase

The paper lantern sheds no light
on the reclaimed mahogany;
it doesn’t sing anymore
with the memories of its youth

There’s a hole burnt
into one of the wooden shelves
courtesy of an overzealous candle
the panelling battered and bruised
with too many moves

New and second-hand books
huddle together
in organised chaos
an apocalypse of paper
fighting to fit on the edge
of the wood-shelf earth

The Devil Wears Prada
sits between Jack London
and The Last of the Mohicans
despite the fact the latter
is unreadable
childhood nostalgia
keeping it on the shelf
just in case

The paper lantern sheds no light
on the reclaimed mahogany
that holds its treasures
like an antique store in disrepair
over-used and over-loved
fragrant with fantasies  
murder mysteries
and books of poetry

© Indie Adams 2014