The Old Library ( Appreciating the Wisdom that comes with age)

“When an old man or woman dies, a library burns to the ground”.

Seated under a shade, an old crusty library stands.

No dusty shelves to show, but aging lines and cranky bits.

Hands shaky, vision almost failing but intelligence and faith never faltering.

A voice a little rusty but vibrant, thoughts crusty and reeking of memories.

A shade most sufficient, a calming around the homestead

after the sun flirts with the moon at dawn summoning evening.

Unshaken, vivid imaginations crimsoned with the effects that

come with age, the old library stands strong, ever resourceful and cheerful.

Memories still as fresh, events of the past told as new.

Faith never faltering, knowledge never breaking.

Stories by the fire, always as enthusiastic with wit and humor.

Historical events told in folk lore, Geography, and religion broken

down through the ages, tales of valor and strength, virtue and Pride.

Bits of the past and how the ancestors lived.

Knowledge never ceasing, to an audience ever changing.

Life times caressed, his audience will grow and usher in a

vibrant one with different perceptions on life and the world.

He knows of more births and burial grounds.

A life lived in turmoil; he’s seen the world from different angles,

encountered all kinds of people, and experiences.

A blurry vision most sufficient for he has seen it all.

The scars on his skin tell of the First World War.

Truth as he stutters provokes memories of the Second World War.

Taking strides of intelligence for a world he grew up knowing.

The changes ushered in by the industrial revolution and independence.

Various regimes in the country, economic developments

and the changing perception of the world.

A christening different from the world he knew where women

and men had different roles and responsibilities.

Rite of passage caressed through each homestead and marriage was upheld.

Recalling a period where Women were more respectful and took

care of their homes while men loved their women and were providers.

Pausing to acknowledge the world with its changes, covering his disgust

for the stains that provoke a generation that now strokes his carnal distress.

Bits of wrinkled flesh screaming attention, Lines of age calling out to the ancestors.

Many moons dawned, different generations, changing perceptions and views of the world.

Topsy turvy blues calming as the sunset, warmth on his skin receding as the sound of

the African drum for the initiation rites while he was still a young man.

“Death would be most sufficient!” he cries…

Knowledge still as resourceful, the old library crumbles.

©FloetryC 2015

loxcv

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Author: AfroetryC

I am an African woman and a mother to a precious little angel. I love to use the term "Afro-floetic Queen" mostly to describe my poetry and my roots. I love poetry...art, soul music and inspirational bits of knowledge to offer advice and counseling to those who need it. I can be very witty, straight forward but fun. Ha. ha... A colorful perception of the world - expressed in my poetry. I want to inspire people with my Poetry...give them hope, while also advising them. Life is a learning process and i am happy when one of my pieces directly affects or inspires one of my readers. Let's take a detour around experience, and let me fill your minds with sweet poetic juices.... Note: Just changed my user name from FloetryC to AfroetryC because the latter is more personal and describes my Spoken Word Poetry better.

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