Filled with beautiful knowledge,
The shelves that never end; mocking
us, and whispering about what we’ll
never know, and never understand.

A gift from beings impossible,
the library eternal. It is peace,
and war. Order, and chaos. It
holds the secrets of the beginning,
and the end.

A man once wrote a story, a
tale of love and loss. A hundred
thousand years have passed,
since that tale was told. The
library remembers.

A woman considers writing of
a dream she used to have. She’ll
never finish her story, but no matter.
In the halls of Alexandria, the finished
work can be found.

One day, millennia from now, a child
will tell a tale of fear by camplight.
When he dies, his sister writes the
story her brother told her years ago.
There is a copy here.

No tale is safe from the iron grasp
of the impossible library. No-one
shall ever read them though. No
being walks these halls. No-one,
but the knight.