As I stare into thoughts unknown,
Perchance for Millennia have these thoughts been hidden.

How many lives have been sacrificed for these lines that have been penned,
Wrought forth from the hands of women and men?

I ask myself as I stare deeper,
Will I open my soul & truly experience what is written inside?

Questions, answers, propositions, mathematical formulae,
Stamped on pages in prose, poetry and the notation of symphony,
When bound together between two covers, they are given life,
As they stand tall & proud upon spines of twine and glue.

So what are these books, where are they from, what do they do?

They are treasure troves of information,
Some may well be useless yet some do indeed cause perturbation,
due to their profundity, symmetry or, dare I say it?

Their deep ringing harmony, nay symphony with the truth of creation.

For deep within the belly of our souls writhes a beast with a limitless craving,
& her name is desire.

Silence her cries and take only that which you require,
Place the crown of creation into a state of physical and spiritual prostration,
Search out the knowledge so that you may acquire,
The epiphany of wisdom and the freedom from desire,
For in the end,
Despite what we might covet and admire,
Knowledge is rootless without sincerity,
And sincerity is fruitless without guidance.