to me, the library is like heaven.
there’s a hushed reverence when you enter,
the lighting is good,
you slow down almost instinctively, to explore.
it is not a through street, but a dead end
that is eternally alive with thought.
a librarian comes up to you and with a Soft voice,
will ask if they can help you find something?
get this — and it will blow your Mind — the librarian listens!
these wonderful beings actually help struggling humans find answers.
hospitals, however, are patterned after hell–
the waiting room is the EXACT same concept as purgatory;
(how could anybody miss that?) everybody hangs about
in an uncomfortable place to determine if they will be
admitted to hell. there is no slowing down; on
the contrary, every person in a hospital
is wound-up, agitated, and rushed. you feel
insignificant, forgotten, and for some reason
find yourself pining to be more sick and injured
than reality would suggest, only for the sake of
getting things over-with. there are screams and
strobing lights, as you take your entrance
exam for hell, trying to concentrate on filling out
forms; including one where the print remains so tiny,
nobody bothers to read it as they sign away their soul,
to be yet another body thrown to the eternal flames. at some point
somebody will always say, “we’re going to take good care of you!”
and then they proceed to do everything
that is the opposite to “care” and “good.”
it’s a law, and all hospitals must do this.
i think hell has the same rule,
though have heard purgatory manages to remain less crowded.
so maybe libraries should be the waiting room
for hospitals. or maybe operating rooms should be
inside of libraries? i just know that the best
way to stay out of hell is to not go there.
and i would prefer to see heaven before i die,
i really would…
always seemed like a good idea to avoid the bad in life,
it only hurts when you don’t dream.
and the easiest way to find heaven
is to wander down to your local library–
breathe in a book or two–
let wonder dissect freedom
until no master remains; and every thought that chimed true
holds death in the distance, dim recollection folding into shards
of grey matter freely multiplying externally to any black and white
(the boom and the harvest), true betterment deserves a battered hell;
life and exigency, never parted.
how does reason devise one reason to be simple?
simplicity itself lives in a graveyard, but i have marked every passage
while the world tempered only itself,
deciding Time was something that crumbles as if only idiots breathe;
that eternity should fade and subtract itself from infinity;
that Love has no equal and no opposite –no completeness.
the pain of each second will stop everything
and remember nothing … at least once.
heaven and hell are things that man makes, but what
lives after death is the sigh of forgiveness
…maybe the hope of truth that sees to better ends.