In firm, unbending rules, I am molded and changed by hands of my own fashioning
In my creation I create
And in my death, I give way to new life
All that is me is you, and all you record is me
I will not, and do not judge you, for that is not my job
I have witnessed war, horrendous
I have witnessed love, unapologetic
I have witnessed cruelty, cold
I have witnessed God, inherent
I have witnessed the Devil, intrinsic
I have witnessed and I have told; to some it is joyous, to others grievous
I accept those accepting or rejecting me;
I encircle the globe of life, permeating minds and existences
Calm and understanding, I carry swiftly the news of final breaths
Removed and dispassionate, I record the numbers carried from failed battle, to be replaced by brethren
I am knowledge that knows no knowledge
I am mankind
I am everlasting.
2.
Imagination is my goal, escapism and dreams are my means,
Routes and skies and seas-unknown are made lucid and open by written word and ordered line.
A verdant pasture: birds filling cerulean sky with songs, wildflowers waving under weight of laughing air.
Dirty and dusty, with beaten people, their heads down; a city, an arena for a clever plot, spun by masterful mind
The lake, holding the bloated body of the trusting fisherman, unsuspecting, brought to his fatal finish by false friend.
Utopian cities floating among the clean clouds, ruled by kind kings and queens
A golf course and country club-the centers of high class life. Growth and destruction all rolled into a single building.
The shrinking 12’x12’ room: a mother stolen, a son made unaware of life in the Outside, abiding under self-imposed ruled for the sake of acclimation.
Separated by fate, but drawn back together, old lovers meet at sea, about to die, satisfied in the roiling waters.
The dining room, witness to dramas, memories and miseries, silent and without judgement.
Made up lands, with a shag of royal blue grass, sprouting purple trunks with orange leaves and perched singing dogs.
Line by line, these are read and constructed, and line by line, they construct and strengthen readers and writers both.
Places impossible to visit, suddenly available, suddenly able to be explored, and suddenly exploitable.
Words on paper, on vellum, on parchment, on stone, a permanent pathway, once etched into the mind, forever retrievable, forever expandable.
3.
A child, just begun, asked the ancient world, “What is a book?”
But the world did not reply fully, only that which it knew
The adults replied, “It is learning: your job for twenty more years,” appealing to the gray-walled classrooms
The optimist replied, “It is the future, full of gifts from the past,” inspired by the love stories and hope of many generations
The pessimist replied, “It is nothing, full of pain, reality and depraved human nature,” thinking to war and terror
The anarchist replied, “It is rebellion; that which you read, they would take from you,” recalling burning books and smoldering cities
The scholar replied, “It is knowledge-to glean from and add to,” reveling in the textbooks of long lost countries
The teenager replied, “It is a new world, with the ability to carry you off,” remembering the wizards, adventurers, wizards and spells;
Yet the child was not satisfied; for all of these could not sum up what I was to her.
To her, I was made up of these, but when spoken, ideas left me empty
I was her imagination, her playground, her sadness, her struggles, her friend, her enemy, her consolation and her hatred
I was all of these and yet not-
She found me when she was not looking: on the bus, in the back-far removed; or on the hill, far from the shouts of others; perhaps in the locker room, observing silently.
Though she always asked, continuously growing, she did not know me until she needed me and until the rest failed her
To this child, now grown, a book is war, it is peace, love, but also hate; horror and crime and acceptance

To this I strive:
There is no classification or exclusion;
What she thinks of me, I am
And what she denies of me, I am
And everything in between.
4.
I am everything, and I am nothing
I am the most powerful and the most weak
I am the horse, my belly pregnant with soldiers, clever machinery of men, I spread death
I am the Kingkiller Kvothe, the name of the wind and the wily Bast
I am the abuse, the deaths of millions; nameless bodies lain on the shoulders of ignorance
I am the dark, daring dash to light one if by land or two if by sea
I am the timeless human spirit, the will to survive, the want for a better life
I am the drunk, the immoral and the fear of mortality
I am the boy chasing the bobbing boat down the river
I am the moving staircase, the adventuring young wizard lost in courage
I am the young couple, managing by fate or miracle to see through to the end
I am the party-goer, immoral, innocent of love, and so taken advantage
I am the love, kindness and hope for all the mangled mankind, misguided by hate
I am the anger, betrayal and a lost cause, cursing, intending to die
I am the adventuring hero, lifting gleaming broadsword, sheathed only in blood
I am the brokenhearted queen, ruler of a once trustful people, my dignity taken by foreign king
I am the historian, tentatively taking an unadulterated look at recently revealed manuscripts
I am god of all men, regally residing in high Olympus; the power and will to command is mine
I am the farmer, toiling with till, the fields unyielding
I am the dictator, spewing simple tales of hate, distracting the denizens from a decline in freedom
I am the lunatic, locked up, but not lost; waiting, pondering
I am a boat, buffeted by billows-too high-spilling precious cargo, human lives
I am courageous, craven, dull, dashing, fragile or fanatic, but above all, I am ubiquitous
I am the sad, the delighted, the mysterious, the crestfallen, the militant and peaceful
I am never-ending, written from all peoples and never destroyed
I am creativity, depravity, enlightenment and rebellion
I am the entity of all books, of the human mind, from the smallest child to most wizened woman;
I am the cause and I am the effect
I am the problem and I am the solution
I am you.
5.
With unimaginable candor, do I overwhelm? Or with unctuous diction, do I console?
To my reclining audience, arms on knees, eyes on pages, enthralled or enraged, I may do both; this is the power of books
Stories upon stories within stories, I am ubiquitous and omnipotent, and so I am feared by the ignorant and respected by the learned.
Is this too much? Do I act the dictator? Am I controlling? Only so much as I am allowed.
To those who disregard my offerings; you are ignorant of your own foolishness -- learn from those before you.
To those who run to my pages and welcome my presence; you are aware, and even ashamed, of all you could, but do not, know.

6.
And when the detective, daring in action, delivers the hidden culprit
And when the fiery orator reveals the path to greatness
And when the manuscript ends with the unspeakable deaths of youth
And when the lovers embrace through words come alive on paper
And when the truculent toddler learns to share toys
And when the common poet recants words of overused wisdom
And when the rabble-raising revolutionist concludes his tirade against the unnamed man
I will go on,
My last sentence read,
My final flap closed,
My reader left restless or revived
Such is but a temporary pause, a lover’s breath between whispers.