Secrets murmur
in the ashen corners of time,
like knee-legged shadows
edging into noon's confession.
Every book, a dormant universe,
waiting for the soft caress
of a curious touch—a soul confidante.
Gravity wells of emotion
ensconce our fragile realities,
drawing the weary traveler
into spirals of introspection
that pulse quietly
between the lines of forgotten tales.
What do you seek behind the veneer
of daily habitual gestures?
Entropy or wisdom?