In Progress

                                    Too many gods. . .

The gilded spines line the walls

Like eyes the haunt me. Following me. 

The penetrating eyes of forgotten children--displayed for judgment.

Like a protective mother I long to love them all, breathing comfort and purpose.

How can anyone appreciate each one when there are so many?

 

Reaching out for some ones baby, innocent and pure.

I receive a caged clone.

Grown-up parts captured on a page.

They bite, they hiss, they shock, they kill.

My scared hands help me see

Not all books are meant for me.