The rustle of paper,
the clearing of thoughts,
Cuts through the artificial screams of silence.
This is a place where communication frowns,
An occasional hard glance from across the room.
I'm a particle in this cold silence sea,
Colleagues and students afloat with me.
If all life departed from this large and open room,
Silence would remain,
It's walls those of small children's ears
Acute, sensitive to pain.
A meeting place between the living and the dead,
Shelves and isles pickle things already past.
This is a place of knowledge for sure,
But here wisdom does not come fast.
