Sitting in the lie-brary
I sit entranced with the pages of my life
Talking books with talking sticks that beat me
Yammer on and on
Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers,
all characters plotting my story
Do I cling to my story a little longer
hoping for a new chapter, a new verse, turn of phrase?
Hoping to turn the page on my life?
My life? My story? Attached?
Time to burn the book or, step back and take a look
and put the book back up on the shelf?
The story is always there
The story gets complicated
As the plot thickens
Guns, murder, life and death
Love, hate, lust.. dreamy dramas
That captivate and incarcerate
"Shhh, no talking in the lie-brary"
The librarian whispers
Shelves of stories that clamor to be read aloud
Yet the sepulcher of silence bodes ill for those that dare speak out truth
Attached to the musty, moldy stories that run through my head,
Endless streaming data, recording, revising and revealing
Book reviews and endless commentary persist
As my preferences order my stories so I can find them again and again
Words fade with time
"The library is closing in 5 minutes"
Do I scramble and check out my story now,
so I can read and re-read it over and over?
Or, do I just let them go until they disintegrate on the shelves…
When I leave my story on the shelf
my stories fade and crumble to dust and ash.
I leave the lie-brary as my eyes open slowly
and I begin to adjust to the light filled room
"I must have fallen asleep", I mutter to myself
I once was blind but now I am seeing…
Neo: Why do my eyes hurt?
Morpheus: You've never used them before.