Writers weep and howl and pour out anguish in the form of words

Wanting to be seen and wanting others to be heard

Seek the neglected beauty in strange thoughts and hopes and faces

Fantastic worlds where power lurks in unexpected places

Where the wicked is the one who doesn’t see the witch,

While the open hearted hero is the one who will be rich

I want it all, the universe, contained between these pages

Where happiness belongs to those who have wept in other ages

Alone, I am surrounded by the ghosts who I invoked

A symphony of voices that in other times were choked

I am not worth of this message, this divine immanence

This way of saying damn the guards as I reach across the fence

Please take my hand, we haven’t long, I see their fires on the hill

If we don’t save these books from burning

Who will?

(Will Forrest, 2023)