see them
shut away neatly arranged sitting in stacks between forgotten hours
spent categori- analy- philosophiZING sculpted and laid out on pages no one's touched for years
heads bowed in prayer to all unknown founts of knowledge
poring over melodic lines
pouring over mellowed winding paths into the dank and dusty future
beauty too tragic to be summarized here: self-pity
where does youth (butter)fly away to?
cradled in careful shadows out of sunlight
blinking before (en)light(enment)
reassure me. if it was loud here along with dark
and crowded
if pressed upon not by books and intelligensia
no, by hearts beating in time
how would we be?
next time
next time
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