This is a poem about how it feels to lose yourself in the pages of a book
A clock ticks its tock with blithe unconcern,
The sun dapples me; warm freckles of light.
As I open the book on its creaky hinges,
The edges of its pages, beckon me to take flight.
When into its embrace I step,
I am welcomed as an old friend.
As if the world outside these pages were not truly mine,
And rather this one in a book some author penned.
For days, and for hours between,
I am swept away, beyond what I know.
I am spellbound, enchanted by the words written on its pages,
I don’t think I could ever go.
Down a path of starlit dreams,
I will wander for a time.
And, though I wish to remain there forever,
I will return to that world of mine.