Monday Poetry Train #47

A Ravishing
by Joy Renee

Alone I sit
among the high-stacked
rows of dusty gilt,
reading ancient script
on ancient scrolls,
running fingers through
tangled plots,
along the rusty
edge of time,
across the voices
leather-clasped,
that rasp their
ancient whispered
thoughts, imparting
knotted tales
of woe and weal.

When on my neck
I feel the cold
breath of history
stirring the tendrils
of ancient fears
and freezing the bones
of conscious will
thus baring the neck
of innocence
to the icy prick
of musty guilt
as to the ravishing
stories I submit.

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This poem was inspired by the ambiance of the novel I'm still plodding my way through. The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova which I've blogged about several times in the past couple of weeks and also last October.

The graphic above is a photographic print by Jon Davison of Bookshelves in Codrington Library, All Souls College, Oxford, England and is for sale at art.com.