Written Words

Tattered, torn, yellowing, creased,
The signs of a truly loved book.
Twisting thoughts and flowing words.
Bonds inescapable, mind furled.
Bound to the chair, lost to the world.
Friends, lovers, family, kin,
Enemies and haters with you till the end,
Till the very last page and that very last word.
A wish, a hope to see what’s next.
Yet always a dread, dread of the close.
For it to be over,
Never to begin again.
Names flowing though your mind,
Questions that go unanswered.
Fake all of them and yet more real somehow.
It’s a skill, an art, to bind the mind just now.
It’s a blessing, a gift, to read that script,
That has you gripped.
To lose yourself in another world.

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