 |
| This image is of the library on the ill-fated Mauritania. The photograph was provided for by Sepia Saturday, |
Synchrony
I sit and read a much-worn tome…
that’s when it suddenly hits home.
I know where I was meant to be:
‘midst silent crowds; the library.
So many words are spoken but
that’s only when books are not shut.
And then I’ll hear the symphony,
‘midst silent crowds, the library.
Each person reads a narrative.
Ideas dance, declarative.
The hushed room’s filled with bel esprit
‘midst silent crowds; the library.
Unspoken conversations stream
while literate companions dream.
We’re all the same, a synchrony
‘midst silent crowds; the library.
###
Notes: The form is Kyrielle. The poem was written based on two separate prompts: Sepia Saturday's theme of 'library' (because this is National Library Week) and Poetic Asides' prompt about people interacting without saying any words.
