Careful There, Poet. I Might Start To

What Frightens You? What Makes The Hair On Your Arms Rise, Your Palms Sweat, The Breath Catch In Your Chest Like A Wild Thing Caged? Is It The Dark? A Fleeting Memory Of A Bedtime Story, Ghosts And Goblins And Witches Hiding In The Shadows? Is It The Way The Wind Picks Up Just Before A Storm, The Hint Of Wet In The Air That Makes You Want To Scurry Home To The Safety Of Your Fire? Or Is It Something Deeper, Something Much More Frightening, A Monster Deep Inside That You've Glimpsed Only In Pieces, The Vast Unknown Of Your Own Soul Where Secrets Gather With A Terrible Power, The Dark Inside?

We've Left The Moment. It's Gone. We're Somewhere Else Now, And That's Okay. We've Still Got That Moment With Us Somewhere, Deep In Our Memory, Seeping Into Our Dna. And When Our Cells Get Scattered , Whenever That Happens, This Moment Will Still Exist In Them. Those Cells Might Be The Biulding Block Of Something New. A Planet Or Star Or A Sunflower, A Baby. Maybe Even A Cockroach. Who Knows? Whatever It Is, It'll Be A Part Of Us, This Thing Right Here And Now, And We'll Be A Part Of It.

Libraries Are The Torch Of The World, Illuminating The Path When It Feels Too Dark To See. We Mustn't Allow That Torch To Be Extinguished.

Think: Who Has Vans, Huh? Soccer Moms And Serial Killers.

People Aren't Always What You Want Them To Be