Holy Library

This writing padded cell

Houses the unthinkable,

Lavished with gentle praise

From within.

Yes these are solid works.

And these Words are friends.

Albeit,

Of deformed proportions

Preposterous and piffling.

They are

Essential life enhancement,

Both at the same time.

They uplift

And caress this dashing life.

This song of sagging soulfulness

Outlives the ephemeral mood

Once the mood has crashed

Like the sea against the rocks.

And I padded against the harms of life

Continue onward sacked and ashed.

A pilgrim of the grim.

Saved,

But not by any steepled bell,

Or holy library alone.

©️2029 Christopher Thompson

All rights reserved.