Poem: General Boyd

Here's a poem I wrote a few years back while on a trip to a B&B in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin:

This living room is old.
A painting of the General,
square-jawed, bearded, regal,
sits atop the brick fireplace,
underscored by bronze flasks and jugs,
dull yet teeming with
Life!

Bookcases housing
only half his collection!
Yet books consume my vision.
Classics five times my age --
  Hawthorne, Whitman, Dickinson, Aristophanes.
The Divine Comedy from 1908!
The scent of old books ever-present
I sit by the fire,
warmth seeping into my flesh as the flickering
flame draws my eye,
    mesmerizing,
locking my gaze like
a rainbow in a sun shower.
Leather-bound Leaves in my lap, I look slowly
around,
seeing my insignificance.
This living room is old.

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