Though not from streets passed,
Strange cities or missing the bus
that left at half-past
Folded maps, directions asked,
Useless were they to me.
My absence not missed,
I continued my way (I admit, absently)
I cared not for North, East, South, West,
Avenues, speed limits, slippery when wet.
They couldn't help this mind tonight;
I was lost in thoughts, but sound in sight.
I knew then where to find
That place where I could spend some time
Looking not for answers, per se
But for a collection of thoughts at the end of the day.
Quiet, but bright and cluttered
With browers, thinkers, and the pages they muttered
Authors, titles, and worn wooden shelves
Small wheeled stools and coffee shop smells.
I sat on the floor, and tucked in my feet
Collected my thoughts, and started to read.
Psychology, philosophy, and wisdom to keep;
Business, art, and some not so deep.
Staring at the books... I'd amassed quite a pile!
Collected my thoughts, lingered awhile.
Then shelving the books, know what I found?
I found that I liked getting lost...
Lost in those pages bound.
:)
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