With the doubt
Came the drought
Tried to write to wash it out
Thought and thunk and turned about
Read and write all day and night
But the thoughts turned all to shite
What could be his writings light?
To wanderings and potations he did delight
But no enchantment was there in sight
Could nothing belay his minds fight?
Then one cold and stormy night
On a dock with a rock did he fight
Went into the depths alright
A dead old boat did his rock bite
The cabins door was broke just right
And in through this watery plight
Was the books with the knowledge bound tight
In and out and roundabout did he exclaim and did he shout
Oh the library he ran throughout and perused and read and thought throughout!
Then the dread he could not get out
He could not best the likes of such magnanimous clout
And in the end when he found this out
Tore up his writing and threw em’ about shuffled and muffled disordered no doubt
Even this page was scattered about
All full of drivel and shittel and nothing no doubt!
My paper souls shall be always drowned out
By those who are better, will live forever and always escape this damn doubt drought!
-A poem from a collection of loose papers found in the Library.