about libraries

I just wrote this poem. I never write poems, specially in English. It is just a bitch to rhyme. Anyways, I wrote it and here it is:

Alexandria, don't say that word,
I'll think about its holly walls.
Rather had the story remained unheard,
Instead of thinking of what could befall

if only all the wisdom was still intact
I could read Alexander's voice,
If only there was no such riot act
I could maybe the story retract,

bring it close to the heart of the imagination,
Read papiri forever lost, read the word of kings and commons,
But it is all consumed by fire, the inverse of what is creation,
Alexandria, just don't say it, or I'll see the work of demons.

If only I could know,
What hand was the hand that destroyed,
If only I knew the name of such John Doe,
To the fire of Hell we would've been deployed.

Oh, reverse of the hand of Midas,
Instead of making gold, he was the fabricant of ashes,
The crime, worse than the killing of pandas,
Would've been punished by the worse of Hell's bitches.

And if there shall be no Hell, I wouldn't bother,
You, hand of fire, will be punished with oblivion,
Your family is dead, all that you once called brother,
and the sands of time will turn you into simple abstraction.

Don't talk to me about Alexandria,
I don't want to think about what was lost in the fire.

Leite©