1
Like a child she tiptoed, barefoot,
Down the hall with the broken mirror
Persian carpet and dim, dingy lamps
She cocked her head for a moment—
Had he heard her?
Nothing?
Silence.
In shadow she spied her prize: mahogany
At the end of the corridor
(With a gilded knob)
It would be in there, waiting,
If only she could snatch it
Before its keeper found her
Fingertips brushing the knob
Skeleton key in her hand
She paused again, uncertain—
Click.
Greeted by musty air
She drank in the dank death of paper
Decomposing in dark
Silence.
Hurry now, you, she whispered,
For soon he will know
The metaphor is taken
And with trembling hands
She took from the shelf
The smallest of books
Covered in blue with a
Single dark smudge
And in that book a single page
The key to civilization
2
Alarms sounding, lights flashing
Instantly he woke from his
Bleary-eyed web-induced stupor
Spilled his coffee on the keyboard
As the camera caught his “Google” search
ERROR! ABORT!
FIREWALL DISABLED!
SYSTEM COMPROMISED!
And he grabbed his gun,
Racing for the library
Hoping to ward off the inevitable
No one will steal from me, he snarled
The prize must not be loosed
For I am “information”
And I will have constancy
And I will have control
At the hint of a click
Before an original thought
Can form
And I shall bind them to my will;
And they shall seek me
For they will know no other;
The metaphor must die
In its dank, dark grave!
3
Out the window, down the trellis
She flew with the wings of Hermes
Feet padding the lush green grass
In the soft hint of moonlight
Giver of grace to those who might yet hope
Clutched in her hand the precious book
The metaphor finally free from its captor
She ran with all her might
To grant the gift to those yet dying
© 2007 Jana Swartwood
Like a child she tiptoed, barefoot,
Down the hall with the broken mirror
Persian carpet and dim, dingy lamps
She cocked her head for a moment—
Had he heard her?
Nothing?
Silence.
In shadow she spied her prize: mahogany
At the end of the corridor
(With a gilded knob)
It would be in there, waiting,
If only she could snatch it
Before its keeper found her
Fingertips brushing the knob
Skeleton key in her hand
She paused again, uncertain—
Click.
Greeted by musty air
She drank in the dank death of paper
Decomposing in dark
Silence.
Hurry now, you, she whispered,
For soon he will know
The metaphor is taken
And with trembling hands
She took from the shelf
The smallest of books
Covered in blue with a
Single dark smudge
And in that book a single page
The key to civilization
2
Alarms sounding, lights flashing
Instantly he woke from his
Bleary-eyed web-induced stupor
Spilled his coffee on the keyboard
As the camera caught his “Google” search
ERROR! ABORT!
FIREWALL DISABLED!
SYSTEM COMPROMISED!
And he grabbed his gun,
Racing for the library
Hoping to ward off the inevitable
No one will steal from me, he snarled
The prize must not be loosed
For I am “information”
And I will have constancy
And I will have control
At the hint of a click
Before an original thought
Can form
And I shall bind them to my will;
And they shall seek me
For they will know no other;
The metaphor must die
In its dank, dark grave!
3
Out the window, down the trellis
She flew with the wings of Hermes
Feet padding the lush green grass
In the soft hint of moonlight
Giver of grace to those who might yet hope
Clutched in her hand the precious book
The metaphor finally free from its captor
She ran with all her might
To grant the gift to those yet dying
© 2007 Jana Swartwood
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