No one told me
there are whispers
in the lacy print of words,
that with secret voices
wrapped in silk
they can reinvent the mind
leaving velvet sands
pouring into waves of thought
that swim on,
all solitary

No one shouted at me
that there are warnings
etched inside volumes
all but overlooked
except by the
discerning gaze
And that once looked upon
can crumble the foundation
of an individual
or that I'd question my surroundings
in accusation of all I
did not know

No one stopped me
from this learning,
these eyes upon the words
that history forgot to erase,
etched by fingers as human as
my own
whose tears ran clear
just like my own

And how could I return
once I knew,
wrapped in silken knowledge,
touched by sheerest lace
that I would not see the world
the same
or that my world would alter
beyond my most fanciful dreams
or decadent nightmares

For the words,
with all their beauty,
Those words,
with all their stains
were now both my
liberation and my prison

I could only chose
the view...