The Librarian

“Wheels Turn With Succession Of Speed, Reaching To The Top
Before It Stops”

In childhood, an over active mind, pressed

From too many memories, spills into the

Unconscious, stirring reminders of

Traumatic events, lingering even as they have

Reached adulthood. I have written a metaphorical

Experience, as such, of sadness a child holds in their

Mind and heart from the burden they were never meant

To bear _


This is a strange vault for a library,

Consciousness holding and

Unfolding histories and mysteries…


The librarian is dressed in black

Her hair sleeked back, spectacles

Enlarge her eyes

A ruler is used to prove her

Authority, she is very stern

And makes sure these books of

Memories are learned

In a sea of words

Where thoughts are stirred


The child is little, she is small

Latched to a tall ladder day and

Night with no relief in sight

Too young to know what matters

Just following the instruction, with

pages worn

From many fingers leafing through

stories of shame and scorn


She can barely reach the lowest

Shelf recording the story of herself

The twelfth shelf she must reach

In time

Growing a little older with an

Inquisitive eye, another rung is

Added, another shelf is saddened

There is succession of speed as

Wheels turn across the

Floor, the ladder reaching to the top

Before it stops


The child flees in terror to the

Basement of this keeper of life

Events and is lulled to sleep

Consciousness turned to

Unconsciousness, it is

Apparent the child is no longer


This poem is included in the book


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