IV. The Bibliotheca of Dust
He breached the porch of a petrified hall,
Where gravity was but a ghost’s caprice;
Great ossuaries lined the granite wall,
Holding the lexicons of ancient Greece.
The dust was pulverized, mnemonic gold,
The particulate remains of lost belief;
In every mote, a civilization’s mold,
In every shadow, an ontological thief.
He tasted iron on his parchment tongue,
A coppered tang of verbs that turned to rust;
The songs the supernovas once had sung
Were settled here in drifts of silent dust.
He sought the shelf where secrets lie entombed,
Before the very light of sense was consumed.
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