PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

It was dawn. Wanda, the prancing poodle, was wandering around the bedchamber and as soon as the first hint of light was made visibly pouring into the sky-window, she yelped three times, like a rooster would crow, or an alarm clock might rattle. The crew stretched the stiffness of sleep away and rubbed their eyes. Wanda jumped onto their beds, one by one, and licked their faces with hyperactive speed.

This time was set aside for meditation. Galvin asked who was the one talking last night and also if he could be guided to the library to view the epics and gather the available information, so he could have an understanding of this Cardamax character before being shown the holograph. An hour spent studying to freshen the brainwaves for the busy day to come sounded like a decent plan.

The crew sounded primarily like an intellectual crowd. It was nice for Galvin to have decent dialogue coming along with those he will be living with for God knows how long. He could be confident in not only his work but his social company, always a valued resource. When those long hours, days, and weeks and years even send him soaring thru empty skies, he is happy he can rely on those he is surrounded by to break a bit of bread and talk to.

The man speaking last night came to him with a soldier salute and said like a soldier too, “It was me, Sir. My name is Dane. The library is this way.” He set forth the path and Galvin followed.

There were signs posted at each fork in the corridor, labeled arrows pointing toward the different sectors. They came to an elevator and stairs. An arrow was pointing upward and they took the stairs. A few more turns and they came to the great maple doors of the library. There was a face engraved in the wood on the door, and it was so disfigured and abstract that it looked like a despairing hermit condemned in his lonely crisis of delusion.