Portuguese Library

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