As the sun sets
I curl up in my favorite chair,
powder blue, comfy and worn.
I am home with
A tale on my lap.
It waits to be unlocked
whispering, murmuring, chanting
“Open me, Open me, Open me.”
Filled with wonders only I can create
My imagination pulling me out of reality,
boarding me onto a train,
lazily rolling through the hills,
Pulling into the stations of faraway places.
Places with magic and fair maidens and gentlemen,
telling me the stories of triumph and heroism.
The Shire with it’s quaint hobbit holes,
full of merry laughter and fiery drinks.
Netherfield with it’s elaborate ballroom with
young misses waiting for a dance.
Oz and it’s green glittering walls
and rough yellow brick road.
Taking me to places more comforting than
I have ever felt in my lifetime.
Then the tale shows me
the places with struggle
and tear-streaked faces and squalid strangers.
Places with bitter dirt dusted streets and soot-covered windows.
The Annex and it’s hushed voices and fearful short-lived future.
The Savage’s slack carcass swinging from the balcony.
Susie’s found charms, lost body, and wandering soul.
People who get beatings at night but smile in the morning,
and when they tell their story, have more courage than I.
Snapping me away from the realm of invention, and
Delving into the deep pool of actuality.
Inquiring of me the answers
to questions I had never thought of before.
Dorothy was right,
There is no place like home
And mine is between the pages.
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