The Silent Interlude

Between worlds of paper, dreams inked deep,
A thin fold rests, patiently asleep.
It has no voice, nor hurried gesture bright,
Only the calm of something pure and right.
It is a point within time, a secret held in keep,
Between what was before and what the future sleeps.

Faithful keeper of interrupted lines,
Knows of dragons sleeping, distant loves’ designs.
It fears not oblivion, nor pages torn apart,
But watches over us with gentle heart.
Awaits the return, the lost fold to find,
The light that seeks a story of its kind.

It asks no applause, nor verses ever paid,
This slender bridge, so silent and arrayed.
Only the bow of volumes dearly loved,
And the echo of a dream half-removed.
It is a silent pact, a promise never heard,
The book’s true heart, whose final word is blurred.