Books Books

Inside the library I cannot get out,
after hours and the doors are locked.
I am a prisoner with books about;
a wave of fear—a cold fist grips my heart.

Books books, surrounding me,
there are too many to read.
Books books, is all I see;
I’m lanced with fear and I now bleed.

It that an apparition by the stacks?
My mind is haunted by a mystery.
If I could get out I would sure make tracks;
I’d run and wave bye-bye to prison library!

Books books, they seem to say,
that I am trapped for the night.
Books books, a passion play;
I’m on a stage performing in fright.

The checkout desk is nothing but dead air;
there is nobody to check out a tome.
In my confinement I know life is not fair;
I’d like to make a break so I could go on home.

Books books, don’t cost a dime,
to comfort me all the more.
Books books, to past the time
till someone comes and unlocks the door.


24 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
1-27-20