To the garden upon what it hold
Among the leaves of books
Held by shelves of the tree trunks
Stretch long into the halls
Of Twilight's garden
She made her way towards
Leaving behind many
Yet gaining the same few
As of late weary days
That stretch time afar
And it goes on
The same as we do
Dreariness takes hold
Upon those who leave
Even as trivial as it seems.
The distance still gets created
The space between others
And us
Enough of a void
To fill it of the sense of not belonging
As she moved
Seeing the world behind
Hoped for the new
As a reminder for what she left
Into the world she stepped
Different from the last
In each way,
More beautiful, or worse
The garden stretched on
to the imposingly long end
That filled with infinite
or it seems so
The books craved
Each into a way
One only its own
Of rich, ornate beauty
Some,
Bright as the golden corn
flourished among the flowers
roses, lilies and dandelions
But with a thousands
That span across the wall
The impossibility
Of individuality seems diminished
Yet it was not
With the glance
None was the same
Nor it's content shall
While the world she stood in
Was so unknown
It was filled with possibility
Of a million million endings
A challenge of endings
Many refuse
To dare attempt
Afraid of their failure
A few dare
Yet with a fear
Of what to happen
Of what is to come
She will
For each was a path
To be trotted along
Even there was none
And she begun
Her very journey
Of a never ending
World of books
Of the thousand books
She lay in each of them
Each in their arms
Warm and rhythmic
There abodes she stayed
As guest
As each told her
Of their tale
Of which some
Broke her heart
Riddled her
With undecipherable sadness
Some
Brought tears
Of joy
Of laughter
Just as many
Brought knowledge
And showed
All they did
And so she watched
Each one that they came
Listened
And took in
With each day
She walked in their shoes
Gave a day of hers
For their small lives
Went on
Spending her days
On each book
As of no end
