Undimmable Light


A library has no “after hours,”
that time when life on pages slumber
or their covers lock-shut.

How satisfying it must be,
paginate existence forever alive
shedding light for itself and others,
a perpetual awakened state to what once was
sustained by paper, binary code and digital deliverance.

Philosophy’s rumination of death
fills shelf after shelf, stack after stack,
chronicling sages condemned to exile,
imprisonment or death by unjust means,
all for asking that others consider questions
in search of answers.

We wonder whether on his final night of existence,
Socrates heard evening birds
as he considered the hemlock,
or were they also of quiet voice,
feathers in reverent repose,
sorrow hidden in winged hush.

How vast, dense and black
such a pre-sunrise must have been
as he prepared to drink from the cup
the means to lift his unjustly-sentenced body
from the realm of undimmable light
to a darkness that would find its historical luminosity
in future beginnings for those seeking truth and answers.

How rewarding…

Perceiving living pictures from yesterday’s ink,
coming face to face with wisdom’s slumped back,
the prophetic eyes closing,
encouraging us to continue ahead
to future libraries where
we will pour through yesterdays,
not knowing which of life’s endings
we might someday partake,
and thus contribute more pages of existence,
perhaps even of sage significance,
becoming another legacy remaining forever awake,
keeping aflame Time’s evolving wisdom,
needing but little light to further lesson’s quest for answers.