These shelves have been here a good many years

And there are too many, 

too many books to read.

A few are neatly stacked from short to tall,

But really, most are strewn all over the floor.

 

The candlelight ahead reveals a higher shelf,

Much larger than the others (or so it seems).

And at the side, an empty chair

for the librarian who is on holiday

(If there actually is a librarian in this place).



There lies a book on this greater shelf, 

One that draws great interest.

Written in an ancient font,

New words appear on each turned page; 

Words that enthrall, words that consume.

So be careful not to read too much;

It is strange to read a book that writes itself.



Opposite, in the absence of a shelf,

Hangs a mirror on the wall

That beckons with the true reflection of oneself.

But the harder one looks, the less one sees

And the bones on the floor are of those who spent too long staring into nothing.



Come, let's leave this madness

And we'll walk forward into the darkness. 

We must find a way up;

A way out, 

An exit,

An escape

(If there actually is one in this place).

 

Darius Sit is currently studying Finance and Religion at the National University of Singapore (NUS). He plays Rugby and dreams of writing poetry for a living.