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It's quiet, The silence enhanced by The rustle of pages; The whisper of breath; The murmur of a search yet to be fruitful. With a harshness like stone A siren splits the air
I dye my hair. I play guitar. I create art. But, hey! I'm more than just a semi-realistic stereotype! I'm part of a choral group.  I go to church every Sunday. I love the library.
Browsing the shelves of knowledge that I have retained in my mind, I take a moment to reminisce and bring to light what I gathered from every life experience.   Love.
We may say libraries are disappearingBut they will always be with usThey have been regineeringUsing them is a must
From left to right and back again they swing: The golden disks, the pendulums depended. Indifferent to those who onward tread, They click in perfect time, in time unending.
For The Library Tulani Reeves-Miller   You have always been there for me When I needed you most With comforting pillow-soft pages I turn to you when I am at my worst
I invite you to imagine a girl. She is quiet, her house obscenely loud. She needs calm – her house is anything but. You’re looking for her? Check the library.   Because that’s where she is –
Protective pillars stacked around me,      pages of promise, worn and loved. I am safe. Lives to live through, lessons unfold. I learn. Travel through time and traverse the world. I grow.
The minute she steps foot in a libraryShe has an excited lookAnd before you can even blink your eyeShe has her nose in a book
We sit together, holding worn and too real pages that smell of Egypt: cool and crisp against our fingertips.   We hum our individual orchestras left in the back of our minds when all we can think of is
Upon first glance It seems interesting enough. I’ll consider it.   The first few pages intrigued me. I'll bring this one with me  And read it on the bus ride home.         I’m learning more and more,
A place of students They come for two things Desks and internet To relax, to study To pick up textbooks from a cubby   A place of modernity Glass and concrete Microchips and metal
Lies are action books Misplaced on dusty shelves Among nonfiction.
Footsteps echo,
Warning: some explicit language  
I look at the towering shelves that enchant  me with their dust, And their books sitting there like a superlative throne. I find the quiet a blessing, Because I know they won't forever be silent.  
Thoughts. What do they mean? Can we base them off of prior knowledge from a book we liked to read?
We be getting straight A'sBut we missing for daysBaby got me on lockCuz they bringing the Lays (Potato Chips!)
I sit at this desk Weak wrists and fingers trembling over faded keys (tap) Eyes heavy, knees bouncing Anticipation setting in (tap) (tap) Neck rolling, twisting in my chair. (tap)
Yellowed pages Faded ink Coffee stains left behind, by another story traveler The old man with a corduroy jacket Patches on the sleeves, and not just the elbows Books perch on the shelves
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