Libraric Asylum

Libraric Asylum

Matthew P. Haubert
 
The mood is quiet, like that of your words,
So still, so silent, so splendidly absurd.
No on can speak, no one can seem to hear,
For feeling, For friends, For fate not here.
This libraric asylum so pleasantly be feared.
 
This colorless hue, like that of a sky,
So still, So silent, So splendidly high.
No pigment can show through these white walls,
For feeling, For Friends, For fate no drips fall.
This libraric asylum a fate for us all.

The people are rude, with their humerous smirks,
So still, So silent, So splendidly they hurt.
No one one can stop, stop staring to the air,
For feeling, for friends, for fate is not found their.
This libraric asylum shall fate your heirs.
 
The past of this place, like a devilish hell,
So still, So silent, So splendidly withheld.
No scriptures to speak of the torcherous past,
For feeling, for friends, for fate no longer cast!
This libraric asylum and its damned treacherous past.
 
The future beholds! One no one can see,
So still, So silent, So splendidly it shall be.
No assurance in writing of changes to this place,
For feeling, for friends, for fate interlaced.
This libraric asylum has few hopes for taste.
 
A twist in the story, like that of a rhyme,
Not still, Not silent, Not splendid but devine!
The people they turn, they all look to the light,
Much feeling, Many friends, More fate is in sight!
This libraric asylum may once soon be bright!
 
A glimmer of hope has come over these walls,
Not silent, not still, but splendid and small.
This beautiful light, shining, blinding our eyes,
Grand feeling, Grand friends, Grand fate but why?
This libraric asylum now controls our eyes.
 
The light, she leaves!  Like that of a bird,
So still, So silent, So splendidly spurred.
Sorrow comes over a feeling of pain,
For feeling, for friends, for fate falls like the rain.
This libraric asylum now drives me insane!
 
I shall wait! Yes forever I will wait,
So still, So silent, So splendidly this fate.
Now years will pass, waiting for the light to come back,
For feeling, for friends, for your fate will not come back.
This libraric asylum has placed me upon is plaque.
 
Centuries have past, as I silently sit,
So still, So silent, So splendidly split.
Where is she the light? The one which consumes!
My feeling, my friends, my fate now doomed,
This libraric asylum has now become my tomb.