Will you impress me,
library?
Show me my destiny,
tell something funny or scary?
What could you know
that I would know
if silence was not the wisest
of all tongues that you speak?

Dim lights brighten thin dusts
each book gracefully sparkling its own
unique microcosm of starlight for those
who can read, to never be lost to the sea
of possibilities and choices entirely.

Is there a wind faster to sail than the breath
of fresh ideas, inspired so close to the heart
just then to expire as quickly again?
How far can the rot of monotony beat a sail until stacked stuck in a gaseous inertia?

How many worlds will ever have filled these
old keen shelves, after the day that I pass,
never the time for all these stories
printed by the weight of pasts
sound records into cracking oak?

Each footstep enechoes the corridors.
One needs silence to realize
what is going on, once in a while, or who.
No clock exists within these halls.

Time is nothing with so much left to write,
and always runs out with so much left unwritten.
But whereever time gets lost -
maybe some of it might be found again,
right the timeless words between?

This is a library.