The Erudite Dirt

Heaps and heaps of dirt

Sat on ancient manuscripts

In the Old City Library

As old as the legends it coated.

Some layers too light, too shallow

Easily blown off to make place for new

Now, here; now there

Like aimless, flimsy souls too flippant to settle down.

Some, heavier ones, permeate deeper

And cut fables into the antique paper

Of burly hills

Of rigid rocks

Of teary streams that flowed beneath the dermal terrain

For only dirt that came from the depths of earth

Knew the dark secrets

Of lands lost

Of fiends fought

Of promises broken

Of words not spoken.