Books = Life

I. 

Am.

A reader.

A starry-eyed dreamer

Who holds worlds in her hands on a daily basis

Escaping from the hum-drum to a mythical oasis.

I'm a devotee of words, a disciple.

I need them more than air, it's survival.

 

Without these pages, I would not be alive.

Through these letters strung together I am revived.

I was born into this world of stories where,

I was groomed and raised on tall tales, a true heir.

Some say I'm a fool hiding away in dreamland,

While in reality, I have held eternities in the palm of my hand.

 

My lifeblood, my love, my one true energy.

These tomes recreate me into things I could never be.

On my shelves sit every adventure, waiting.

Breathing life into me, liberating,

In the realm of crinkled pages, I find peace.

My mind, it enters and roams - never to cease.

 

I have lived every life imaginable in these leatherbound galaxies.

I have been prophets, kings, and slaves scrawled in theses fantasies.

I have held council with gods and devils,

Piloted starships, observed sacred revels.

I have seen heaven, hell, and all else in between

And I would give none of it up for anything.

 

In times of struggle, I return to them and find

That within them all the stars have aligned.

I have learned of life and death, true love, and pure hate.

My love affair with these volumes was nothing short of fate.

That front cover is the most magnificent key,

Because books are life to readers like me.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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