Poetry and she

sits she now upon the floor
pages pull her through a door
to a place so wondrous far
beyond the realm of where we are

words, so simple, on the page
live beyond their written age
bring a time, so vivid, real
that there, upon the floor, does feel

the woman rapt within the prose
that knows not where this passage goes
but follows in a blind belief
that within pages lies relief

from common daily life, and so
will follow where the feelings go
and sits with eager eyes, and takes
this path through mountains, valleys, lakes

a path that knows of love and pain
a path that knows of sun and rain
of truth, of lies of bold disdain
of quiet thoughts that long remain

beneath the surface, long withheld
mingling there a wall is built
that hides the soul, that feelings felled
without the slightest tinge of guilt

a path that none but few can see
or follow to its misty end
to bring to light, the chains to free
none but another word felt friend

and so, she sits, and breathes it in
these words that long have sat in wait
within the tomes, on shelves within
these thoughts that still know not their fate


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