Joy Unseen

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My old friend,
with laugh lines of crinkles
lovingly speaks to me.

With his aged yellow paper
and strange musty scent
that likes to linger just, for my benefit.

The finger stains
that mar his skin
but only add to his weathered beauty.

His dog eared corners
that bring forth a smile
and beckon me to stay,
if only for awhile.

I must not forget
his tattered old spine
with those creases so deep,
every time when opened, let out a creak.

But what lies within
is his greatest treasure
that surpasses all mounds of gold

For there I behold his words
which dance across my eyes
and awaken the fire inside.

So you see
that for me
serenity
(simply put)
is just a book.

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