– Janus –
He sits in the centre of a great round room,
lit with the gentle yellow glow of waning candles,
surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of books,
ancient tomes stacked in great towers.
He carries himself with a taciturn strength,
though I can see his true nature
through the armour of that silence.
His eyes are young,
yet his spirit is ancient,
born from a much older time,
when things like us were commonplace,
our muses’ nature not so hybridized
with our fragile humanity.
When he looks into me,
I see through him like a window,
into the knowledge inside.
His own thoughts quietly preside,
with a deeper truth hidden,
layered in between the pages of him;
An ability of persuasion so powerful
that he broadcasts far across the human fray.
I wonder;
Does he even know what he is?
Does he know what he is yet to become?