I have a room full of lifetimes.
Floor to ceiling, wall to wall
Bookshelves stretch, brimming
With silvery hours overflowed—
Hours writing by the faded light
Of old yellow lamps, hours
Hunched over typewriters,
Hours when sparkling inspiration
Somersaulted through minds,
Spun and fell like shooting stars.
Sweat and pain, days and nights
Poured into torrents of ink,
Soaked into pages upon pages
Of paper and locked into words.
Yes, hundreds, thousands
Of lifetimes sit upon my shelves,
Alphabetized by last name.

One man!

One man, one car, one bomb
Explodes into a flaming beast
Roaring through on a rampage,
Crumbling shelves of dreams.

Alas, words char too soon to ash:
With them go a thousand lifetimes.