The Librarian

“Growing A Little Older, Another Rung Is Added”

When I started writing, I had no computer, iPad

Or any other devise. I actually started writing notes on

My iPhone, in cafes, even bars, (very unusual since

I did not frequent them) but anyplace that had WiFi.

And then I found the library to be my refuge.

I knew nothing about the computer and struggled,

Going home in tears, but always returning,

Determined to learn what I needed to

Tell my story. But for a very kind and caring

Nephew stepping in and running the technical part

Of this, my writings would not exist to others.

It was a long process, and challenging, since

I was writing things that were emotionally

Disturbing. Long ago a very strong disciplinarian

Set up residence in my head, and a battle raged

Every day. The child in me feared this person

And hid behind words and numbers I developed

As a tool (a component of OCD). I counted

Everything I saw and words ran through my

Brain, a serious mental disorder.

As I look back, I know God was in control, since I

Was out of control. Little did I know that the letters

And numbers I hid behind would one day be words

Of poetry seeking my mind!

~~~

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

And makes sure these books of

Memories are learned, on

Shelves 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 told

~~~

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

Transparent!

This poem is included in the book

‘Unshaken’

Read more at: www.donnaspoetry.com

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