the bookkeeper resides,
in a idle void,
such an ideal place
for the "unemployed"
sitting beside,
a flickering spree
light that runs back and forth,
like a horse winding on its run
and that one clock stuck on three
it's true at your turn,
some rooms were designed to sit and self scorn
remembering this is all he is, all he could be
flipping an old binding,
still makes the creaking sound
as if some spirits are hiding — yet again
in shady cracks and racks,
even when they're supposed to stop being around
he sews some pages,
like molecules are bound
tighter than a promise,
stronger than his soul
meant for the mundane,
when his library is burned and old
withering,
as he did riding on time
humming from his memory,
forgetful yet grasping rhymes
this library shall fall sooner than anticipated,
leaving what?
a few hundred readers with a paper wasp sting.
rather rest and ought
not to grieve for the living,
than sit still and watch
his precious library destroying,
pages that were once soaring
fluttering in the sky on land
"the scream" following them
sinking in the sand
melting and flowing,
away from their distinct wonderlands
yet,
the bookkeeper grabs a chair
and lets the show play
burrowing in his own hands
at fires too ugly to be
deserving of devouring the person here,
more technically
not him just the essence of his being
and plans most people were terrible at seeing
the neighbours not know him enough
to stop and ask
"why did you give this up?"
and assuming from the rumors,
it is always a good deed
to let madmen finish their tasks
because
didn't he do this himself?
planted the seed
lit a match,
to let it succeed
when it struck five,
they found the first arsonist
to cover his house, observe and still survive
YOU ARE READING
| musings harmonizing
Poetryhi! <3 this is a collection of my self written poems/songs over the years. lowercase intended. possible triggers - i have introductory poems in the begging to showcase my writing style, with one old and one new poem. - most of this is imaginative...
