The Library

Books.
Everywhere I turn,
There are books.

I can walk any which way,
Turn any corner,
And there they lay.

I wonder what the say?

I pick up one,
Oh look here!
A day of beach and sun.

And look, another!
Open the pages:
Friends loving each other.

And then there is the mother.

Thousands of works,
Of happy days and nights.
But beneath a shadow lurks.

I can see the red
That stains the pages,
A knife and blood have wed.

I wonder if she's dead.

Close the leather,
Read no further,
No longer may I tether.

But new this aisle be,
And a portrait of the library's owner
I can now see.

It's a painting of me.