Hold me tight, wise library of poets
That watch me intimately from the walls
Among the many, they were the quiets
Like myself, answering only some calls
Approach me, dry library of strangers
That lurkingly avoid my eye contact
They are the many agers and wagers
From whom I retract and not interact
Release me, tight library of my mind
That embraces the gaze of old photos
But among the alive, struggles to find
An interlocking mind that jointly flows
Why group minds are not analytical
When I am so scared of the mystical