Nathan Fudenberg

Steps leaving dusty fossils and more

Row by row, like a multi-colored horde

Spines straighter than any lord’s

Running a hand along one row

Thinking of all the truths that they know

Finally, plucking hands reach,

leaving a lonesome and empty breach

Creaking like an old ship in a storm

Its inside is tattered and torn

This repository of knowledge

Awaiting some young person from college

I disappoint them; I can see,

But I cannot help being me

Taking them from their watch stations

To read there what exists after their privations

This room slowly resonates with unbroken silence

Entombed deeper and deeper in incompliance

There a lost gem slowly decays into obscurity