I put my earbuds in and sting my open wounds with stories
I wander through the library, mausoleum of time
Oldness, dust, that faint smell with no name
I open a book in Danish, squiggles and dots
This must be what a child feels like before they can read

My soul is leaking out of my sides, I clasp them tight
As I attempt to imprison my wandering soul, it slips out my mouth
Into these ancient creations of another
I must read to find it
I must find it

It weathers storms on a glassy sea
It wanders in darkness and burns in the light
It jumps off the precipice of possibility
It was screaming and I forgot to listen
I just put in my earbuds and stung in with stories
Until it became one

*Oh my soul I must honor thee, in black and white you illusive remain.
Constantly moving but staying the same.
Freedom you found, freedom these pages contain.
But I am not with thee in flesh I remain.
Sorting through words for which I have no name
Lost in the translation that made the mundane