There is a place I often go whenever I feel alone
It sits between pages with endless destinations.
Telling dreams and stories,
Of places I’d much rather be.
I wish I could hide
Between these sentences and lovely lines,
That only speak in beautiful lies.
Heaven and hell become only words to me.
As I crawl deeper and deeper
Into a state of complete felicity.
Fantasies shine between their lines,
Burning bright with red dessert sunsets
and cold Alaskan Northern Lights.
And when an author’s words are not enough,
I write myself into a better reality.
Crafting words into a Solitude Fantasy.
What a serendipitous occasion!
Being able to write yourself,
Into only your most pleasurable literary locations.
Destinations and personalities created
Through words written, and others left unspoken,
Of lives unlived and stories untold.
Suddenly, I don’t feel so alone.
The characters I create empathize,
With my happiness and pain.
They are the best versions of myself,
Showing conviction in a world they can
Completely reign.
With diction and pride,
My characters stride into Hellfire,
Cultivated by worlds of my own imagination.
They save countries from Russian spies
In cold Tundra nights,
Armed with nothing but their wit.
Then again, what would our world be,
Without complicated stories of life in reality?
We live in a world of riddles and rhymes.
I climb back into actuality and truth.
With the weight off my chest,
And finally I can rest,
But only briefly.
For worlds await,
And I only slightly hesitate,
To reminisce on the ease and eloquence of this place.
Comments