The Silent Dignity of the Lexicon

Amidst yellowed paper, a world awaits,
It speaks no syllable, nor breathes a song.
A chest of echoes time cannot abate,
A patient code where silent boasts belong.

Each page a fold of thoughts unknown and deep,
A sea of definitions that lies at rest,
Ready to brush upon lips, secrets it will keep,
Waiting for hands to lay its weight upon the breast.

It holds no memory of its own design,
It judges not the usage, nor chases thought’s flight.
Just a weight of knowing, so profoundly divine,
The sovereign calm of silence and pure light.