Hallowed Halls

I was in the library recently and was reminded of this poem, which I originally wrote while visiting another library at the University of Montana. I love a good library, and as a writer, it can have much the same affect upon me that an art museum or an opera may have on others. On that particular day those endless rows and many floors of books were virtually empty. As I sat alone in the hush of such a place the following words came to me. I preface those words with my concern that some sectors of our society have become functionally illiterate. Most of us know how to read, but we read only what we have to. Education heaps reading on our children but, I fear, usually doesn’t teach them to love it. And, sadly the various forms of electronic entertainment have made us lazy and more difficult to entertain. Yet, when computers, movies and televisions create all the images for us, they stifle our imaginations and short circuit the full cycle of our thoughts. Modern movie and television versions fall short of capturing even the classics and fully doing them justice. Without waxing poetic on the “good old days” I will, at least, say that we seem to be reading less because there are so many more options and, perhaps, less time. However, I would encourage each of us to read more. We must especially read with, to and for our children ... maybe even to each other. So I implore you, please, set the remote aside tonight and curl up with a good book. Shock your family or friends and take them to the library, just for fun. Fight the urge to simply be entertained. Much has been written about how reading stimulates the minds and expands the horizons of children. Most of the adults I know really could use a healthy dose of the same.

Hallowed Halls
Deep within the hallowed halls
of the library I roam
Where the ageless wisdom of the past
and present finds it’s home
In endless rows, on countless shelves
unnumbered volumes dwell
The collective mind of modern man
enshrined within this shell
The history and fiction
of every generation’s pen,
All the poetry and drama
and discoveries of men
Collected, housed and cared for
with the utmost scrutiny
For the research of the learned
and sake of posterity
This very pinnacle of knowledge
this fount of thought and truth
Should be filled with eager students
with the aged and the youth
All in quest of understanding
who and why and what we are
For all who drink from such a fount
would surely prosper and go far
And yet, the halls are empty
the seats are cold and bare
The wisdom of the ages beckons
alas, how few men even care
We have so very much to learn
from the men who came before
From those who built our country
and those who dwell on distant shores
Their insights are invaluable
as they shaped the world we know
And as we mold our future
they might aide us as we go
Dare we live in ignorance
condemned to make the same mistakes
While we could change the course of things
for heaven or our children’s sakes
We owe it to our children
and to our fellow man
To seek the voice of wisdom
in those pages once again
For books contain the record
of our collective history
And within the hallowed halls there lies
the power to shape our destiny
By Frank Carpenter ©