A Librarians Concern

 

 

     Once the word has been written,

You cannot necessarily erase it,

For no matter how hard you rub

The page,

     The word remains.

 

     You could if you so wished,

Rub so hard that the page itself,

Becomes tatty and frayed,

Leaving blemishes

Upon the page underneath,

A page that may have been

A future not yet written,

Or a past now indelible with

Markings of an event;

Keen to be blocked from history.

 

     You could go further into such

Offerings of life,

     For you could if you wish,

Give your book for others

To write, for others

To narrate all events you’ve had.

 

     We all have a book

I guess,

     We all have our very

Own unique history,

And these books intertwine

With both the few and

The many,

 

     No two books

Detail the same event

Written as a copy,

For witness can vary

In chapters,

     By perhaps the colour

Of the pen, or the weight of

Paper that reports

The chapter,

     Everything is open

To an individual’s interpretation,

Nothing; is set to stone.

 

      Yet,

The trees no longer

Yield the paper to record,

The ink wells are dry,

The many different styles

Of books, the colour of their

Sheets and of course the weight,

     Have all ceased upon

Messages of life,

All is now digitized

And hidden behind

Global passwords in full view,

Nothing,

     Can be declared genuine

Or unaltered in any way,

For the very medium

Itself has become

A divisive ally

Full of loaded intent,

 

     Maybe,

We now all know

How careful we should be,

For as paranoid as society

Has now become,

     It is not there

‘Just’ out of fashion,

It is there as both a warning

And a growing concern,

Because as much as

Technology and Medicine

Have advanced,

     Ethics, Morality

And our very way of being;

Has been left behind

In a world that councils

War for all,

War for everyone –

No matter where

You’re born.

 

     The burning of books

Has not yet happened

En masse,

     At least not since

Nineteen forty-five,

But this generation growing

So fast, living their youth

In a world at war,

Needs caution

In seeking the truth,

Needs suspicion

When writing their book,

Because all,

     Are under surveillance

Of corruption and greed,

Where truth upon paper

Becomes burned before courts,

And ink made for writing

Swamps the drains and gutters;

Where the innocent are left

To die, and to bleed.

 

Michael J Waite 22nd August 2014.