The musty smell of old worn out pages
Which have seen more life than your grandmother,
Or the lovely promising smell of new pages
Which are anticipating an excited wonder.
The glossy happy cover or the warning, dark look
A famous author or a raving review,
Whatever draws you to a particular book
The journey through it is paralleled by few.
The insistent jabs of curiosity
Or the need for an emotional flush,
The drive to attain virtuosity
Or experience the rare adrenaline rush.
Bile raising accounts of torture
Or the warm inner glow of the loved,
Whatever hopes you nurture
Can be realised looking through the windows to the world.
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