Bookworm
- ANNA D
I lose myself in pages
Pages of epic adventures,
in worlds not our, full of villains, magic and weighty choices
Pages of cosmic mysteries,
dealing with the very large, and
microscopically small.
I can relate to it all,
or at least most of it.
I find myself in pages
I create myself in a parallel life,
where I accomplish great things,
and everything is perfect.
I dance in pages,
reveling in the great adventure of it all
the rich prose is like a potion
that shuts off reality,
and lets fantasy take the steering wheel.
I am in a new world, created by
brilliant minds of authors, where
their imagination feeds mine.
I weep in pages,
with tears like the rainfall,
when the old wise one passes on,
as a complete surprise,
but then steel myself. I MUST MOVE ON.
What point is there to suddenly lose hope
in characters you have believed in for so long?
These are your friends,
people you have walked with
through their journeys,
and now you consider their fights
yours, too.
I am the great observer,
seeing connections between events
that the pawns of the writer cannot,
often saying things like
“Don’t go in there!” and
“It will get better. Promise.”
My English teachers would be proud.
I rush through the pages,
completely enthralled,
leaping from phrase to phrase,
paragraph to paragraph,
chapter to chapter.
I often devour over one hundred pages
a day.
These words are my sustenance.
Without them, my thoughts would flounder
in a vast, desert-like ocean, with no
drifting quotes to hold onto.
I laugh in pages
at the wonderful antics of
class jokesters,
who perform tricks like swamps in hallways.
Sometimes in despair,
because some people never learn
to change their ways, and blast
others from their paths.
But these villains will be defeated eventually.
It is the way of the world in literature.
When they are finally vanquished,
and I have finished the book,
I sit
and think
about the wonder of it all
and move on to another set
of
pages.
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