There comes a point, when you just have to retreat into

Nothingness. Empty, devoid of anything like a deflated balloon.

The thirst that carries you forward, looking

For that oasis in the barren desert of your consciousness;

The gaps in between spanning millenia; full of customs

That no-one can comprehend or adjust to anymore.

I sit and think, contemplate the schism before me

So full of its nothingness, and I am truly dumb-stricken,

Actually numb beyond words. Not able to say anything,

When usually I would say so much. Tiredness prevails,

And the emptiness is a comfort. Up on high the sun

Still shines bright, tugging at the back of my head behind

My crown, urging me to participate in the feathered formations

That flock above my head, migrating to and from distant lands,

Distant enough not to be in my vision. But they do not swoop

Down to perch atop the cavern of my earthly body, a gargantuan

Library whose shelves are replete with books gathering dust,

And guano, keeping their secrets to themselves and listening to

Nothing but the rhythm of the wood that bears them aloft.

I close my eyes and sit for a moment longer, stop and

Think, stop and not think. Exhale, take a sip of my coffee,

It’s warmth filling me with familiarity and sustenance

Absorbed by the rows of shelves and books of my inner library

Like an elixir; a potion against unwanted invaders.

The birds above my head chirrup away trying to capture

My attention,  ‘I know you’re there’ I say to myself, knowing

That they can hear. Yet they pay no attention to my silent protest.

My coffee, left unattended for a moment as I sit. Did I drink so

Much? I don’t remember. Time to let the library cat have

A word with those beaked invaders. Every library should have a cat.

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