I lay awake thinking as my mind runs away, wild as
The windswept arctic, plummeting into the ocean and
Turning over the waves. How I wander
And do not know where I’m going or where I have been-
What is the meaning?
My tired fingers pick absently at what locks my frustrations inside.
The empty fur balls bumping into piles of dread.
I was thinking about the burnt library of Alexandria.
This terrible longing inside me crashing and knocking
To get out; the knowledge was lost but I
Have to believe somewhere it was spared and
Wrapped in canvas and hidden, waiting to be discovered
And dismissed as myths… superstitions.
But it is impossible to know.
How I loathe that impossibility and with the same blaring
Belief do I claim it. I would march, just as arrogant and
Proud as any army of man to claim it and smash peoples
Foggy heads and laugh at their stupidity.
Or embrace it. I hate being a libra more with every passing day.
Toss away the scales and let me be free.