I’ve been here before…
This same dust filled room.
I have sat there in the same worn, mildewed, moth eaten chair, and watched the silent currents blow the cobwebs into movement.
I have watched the micro world’s blown about as dust in the light of each passing day.
There every page of life is written, collected, and bound. The work of a legion of unseen hands.
Every letter, every mark upon the page, created by a host of beings.
Beings that etch their knowledge simultaneously into the condensed lines of unreadable script.
My tired eyes have long ago grown accustomed to the wording.
Upon a shelf of magnitude…
There sits the great library.
Each volume a collection of time. Each traced letter a forgotten second remembered, recorded, and shared…
And each night I close my eyes…
Each mid day nap I close my eyes…
Each careless blinking of the eye…
Another leaf, another chapter, another book is added.
They lay scattered, disheveled from there proper place…
For but a short time.
Until leathery, age worn hands, once more lifts them into their place.
I know. I have been here before.
I will be again.
False Promises Nouveau 