Books are more than ink and paper.
More than just words created by humans.
They are filled with magic
Acting like small portals to an unknown world.
A protector, or a kind hug to the children forgotten.
Those who live in darkness.
whose wings of innocence
are cut by the monsters born in society.
Their only escape is the books they hold in their hands.
Small pearls of hope covered in leather and glue.
These portals allow the children a small escape leaving behind
bitterness and sorrow.
Becoming the hero of the story,
until they reach the final chapter.
Destroying the enchantment until the next book is opened.
But like all magical items, a price must be paid.
As each book is read
the child's light is slowly stolen.
Sealing away all emotions
until a hollow shell is left behind.
For reasons and emotions can never mix.
For a book can only make a child believe for so long,
before the fantasy comes to an end.
And the child is once more forced to face reality,
forgetting about the final book,
made out of heartstrings and dream sand.
Share This Poem