Vellichor

Pieces of metal clink and clank. Triggering a lever,
letting ink spill upon yellowed parchment.
Violet blood oozes onto a page, fresh, aromatic.
Authentic. Millennia away from the age of technology,
mildly rusty. Out-of-place, alien in a modern house,
with modern people attempting to placate
bits that belong ages away.

Spirits rise from the crevices, fingertips
that had touched the ancient keys.
Silver mist sighs from the gaps created,
as words float about, words that have been
brought to life. Because they have been
recaptured. It's hard to remember something,
some words, if you don't know they exist.

But now I know; I can feel its essence--
ideas become tangible, something I can inhale,
taste at the tip of my tongue, feel it
whispering in my ear, dance before my eyes.
Vellichor--the wistfulness
of old bookstores. Right in my room. My heart
kneels in humility, my mind gapes in awe.

Old authors wave at me. I smile and wave back.
I'll never be one of you, I think. But at least I have
your ideas hovering about, your words of
encouragement. Your smiles. Goodbye...
... for now. Until I revisit your realm again.