From each direction the buzzing and droning of city life clashes against the walls of this temple.
The library is lacking in funds,
And a sole librarian must tend to it.
But the lone librarian values every inch of the broken temple,
Even where the paint peels off the walls,
Where the wood rots away,
And pages of books that have survived tearing over the years.
The library is a waste to the city.
It is of no use.
No other librarian could decipher the library's categorization
Which is constantly under revision.
And the edifice, too, undergoes constant modifications:
It shrinks in size and expands at a whim,
But the city does not notice—cannot notice.
No bricks or beams are added or removed
But internally
The library grows
And contracts.
I am the sole curator of the library of my mind,
A massive
Infinite wonder
Where entry and exit are prohibited.
But I find comfort here.
I'd prefer to be the sole librarian trapped in a library,
It is a far better home
Than to be the sole banker of a bank,
Or the sole scholar of a school.
Here I can learn what I please
When I please
At my own pace.
I like it here.
The silence is soothing.
| Version/Build | Date |
| Beta v1.0 | January 1, 2016 |
| Alpha v1.0 | October, 15, 2015 |
