I.

The man who doesn't yet know
runs a finger along the spine of the book

Not an old book, but written from a lifetime of memories
A story built from the delicate textures of life
everything important and nothing trivial
yet still so insignificant and crucial

The man who doesn't yet know
wonders about the author
The book riddled with love and betrayal
of sacrifices of self to please a world
but it begins with an unknown meadow
far from the adrenaline of the concrete labyrinths
where the birds sang, and the days lasted an eternity

II.

"Touch the feather of a dove
rays of light seen through from the sun
the innocence of white and the lines of an angel
Let it go and your soul travels with it
over the plains and the seas
to kingdoms far away
to the moon and beyond"

III.

The man who doesn't yet know
away from the world for a moment in thought

Remembrance, but not of him
childhood non-existent.
An erased memory from untold horrors
of reaching out to the voice of nothing

The man who doesn't yet know
travels with the constant rain on yellowed windowpanes
of british legends and wordsmiths
Yet somehow ended up in the unnamed library
hosting just one book
A book with no name, with no colour

IV.

"Touch the blade of a razor
lines of tears seen through moonlight
Uphold the moral code, mass-produced for the normal
deadly for those whose shadows contain predators
let them win and your soul travels with them
into the wards with cold, white panels
and inquisitors with pen and papers"

V.

The man who doesn't yet know
confused over the sudden shift in realities

Turns the book over and over
in his bonewhite hands
How do you perceive that who is not yours
yet further inspection reveals this change of tone

The man who doesn't yet know
a mimic in the world of men
of cold, calculating disregard for anything
that doesn't include him
but created to please them with the
survival tyrants of dead aeons

VI.

"A hand on loves cheek
light in the darkness and the sound
of comforts in the echoes of pain
promises whispered in the depths of happiness
The unattainable conquered and armies of hate slain
spoils of love placed on pedestals
the moon brought to ground"

VII.

The man who doesn't yet know
holding a book that is alien and strange to him

Walls of the unnamed library slowly crumbling
letting in fragrances of metal and amphetamine
where ghosts from the past awaits their turn
whispering of points of no return

The man who doesn't yet know
a shiver of resemblance
bringing reality back to focus
To the black on white in the alphabet of life
to logical patterns in trains of thought
drawn to the stories in a book

VIII.

"The white wolf growled
the dagger in its back glittering
reflecting the grins of the betrayers
in a million drops of red
The pack lost, the howl a whimper
the moon, once placed in the hands of a goddess
now sanguine and faltering
It would not be caged again
not ever."

IX.

The man who doesn't yet know
pauses his perpetual reading

Outside in the dark distance
howls of wolves can be heard
through slivers of twirling white crystals
in dark forests, under the shadows of mountains

The man who doesn't yet know
pays no attention to the outside world
With a mind constantly playing chess
with death to avoid embrace
Duly noted in medical records
far from this tower of souls

X.

"To live you must die every day
silently dissolve time to break mental patterns
forever circulating around logical dead stars
To see and understand but never repeat
or destroy another construct
forever falling into the abyss
while the world still smiles"

XI.

The man who is about to know
stares in horror at the unnamed book

The world becoming a polaroid shot of chaos
in a completely still lattice of peace
He doesn't feel trust,
he only read that in a book
He doesn't fall in love,
he only read that in a book
He no longer seeks purpose
He learned that from a book
A book which contains what he does not

A book with his name inside the cover.