In the library of Frederick Driftwood

Mortal is man but eternal is the virtues of his soul...

Decades of time steal into the ever resplendent compartment of books,
As it earmarked the ruins of obsolete works.
Although ragged and jagged its looks,
And written in billion words,
Virtues lie eternal in those shelves where we've been told of kings and dukes.
Everything else will perish,
For mortal is all that contains matter,
This monument of knowledge we now cherish,
Lies here in the lungs of great data;
In the library of Frederick Driftwood.


For this both great and small converged,
With ritzy spectacles,benign hearts and impeccable honour,
All of morbid desires to envisage the havens of works arranged;
Now has become a house of horror!
Alas,time is specious!
Even the lungs of the room have become inscrutable,
It breathes in death with a silence so heinous.
Now the desire of men has deserted it and made it corruptable,
It has been cursed by age and buried in cobwebs.
Lucidly marred by the dread of time.
The stench of aged air lurks in the shelves of ebbs,
That have been kissed by the lips of time,
In the library of Frederick Driftwood.

Never would I forget my voyage to the library of times,
Never would I forget the fading picture of Frederick,
Dead as he is but his works stand the test of times.
Alone I sat in the library and heard my heart tick,
Too loud I felt,for the walls leaned forward,
To listen to my weary heart throbs.
Oh! The air has gone wayward.
A still silence daggered my ribs as fear rushed out like blood drops,
Albeit a man appears from the dark.
With a familiar smile he trudged into the dusty couch.
His eyeballs narrowed at my feet as if to take away its lack,
The pain got worse than it felt at the ranch.
"How quick could a dark heavy burden be cast".
His voice sounded like the tides of the ocean,
And the curtains divided to reveal the gates of Goshen.
"But rays of light will surely brighten your past,
The adamant stars shall bow when your sight they behold,
For on the sky shall your name be written in gold"
His voice echoed like the exacting rhythm and lyrics of a drum,
In the library of Frederick Driftwood.

I limped as the scars on my face stretched,
The pain is my master so I obey its word,
Fear with its cold hands fled to a place so far fetched.
Behold It left me with a man with the looks of a lord.
How did you know the degree of my distress?
How did you know each day eats up my tears?
I cry no more,
For pain and suffering has become part of me,
Far greater than the one I feel from this sore.
Why do you know so much about me?
How do you know the desires of my heart?
Humiliation lies in the embers of my sick heart,
I am a lonely man with a strange lord in a lonely library.
I have been cursed by time's bribery!
"Weep not, life's too short to live,
I once did now I no longer am,
Pain is ephemeral and dies but your soul will live,
The soul is who you are,
Everything else will die but immortal is the virtue of your soul.
In days of toiling,the sky vomits turbulent drops of rain,
But when the heart enclaves into the realms of discovery,even the sky shall bow and let you reign!
Never be relentless,pain is too mortal to cause a man's defeat,
A man is the head but never the feet,
Search within your spirit for your own true voice,
Only then will the soul and the heavens finally rejoice."
He made an eccentric pause and saw I the man no more.
Then I noticed my head was light and my spirit awaken,
I walked out without a limp,for my feet was too mortal to keep me sore.
And stared I with the tool I had taken,
With the frame in my hands had I gained abeyance;
Behold of the ghost of Frederick Driftwood,
In the library of Frederick Driftwood.