A lost library,
A vastness of lost virginity
Of knowledge.
It is child-like wonder
just waiting to be brought under.
I wonder why this library is empty,
It's filled to the brim with unimaginable knowledge,
It should be treated like a homage.
Yet no one but I reside here,
Year after year,
Just me and this library I hold oh, so dear.
Will with varsity of knowledge stay with me,
Or will it eventually become recognized
As an eternity of pressurized
Maturity.
Until then, this library is my own,
My welcoming home,
Until it is inhabited once more,
By someone who believes in its
Exceedingly wise hints.
YOU ARE READING
As Time Slows Around Us [Poetry]
PoetryAs complicated as time itself, like the silent conversations with the moon and sun, lie the complexity of the screaming but silent thoughts of the stars. "All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ...
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