The books sit on a lonely shelf as dust gathers round, on the outskirts of their pages. Each page held, folded, underlined. Where lie years of study, adventure, discovery; and all is still the same. Ideas holding on a shelf as the winter falls. The snow gathers. All is but a memory.
O, the uselessness of words, when life remains the same; when hearts reborn unchanged!
being and words collide
sparks fall into the darkness –
life blossoms again