Some poems have rhythm, rhymes and technique, This one doesn't. I am here to tell you about stories and verses, Hidden beneath the covers.

Something can run or hide, or leap and dance, solve a mystery, or run a marathon.

All you need is a subject. A person, a thing, whatever. The rest folds out, alike the page.

When I was but a girl, Pages whispered secrets without a sound, In worlds of black and white, Characters quickly became companions, Springing to life with every word, Taking me by the hand, Leading me away, to an escape.

Through realms held together by nothing but a spine, Stories unfolded, serene, Their world touching mine, intertwining. Each story's end brought a quiet sorrow, A silent goodbye to a piece of my heart.

What a bittersweet journey, To live 1000 lives, Yet from the heartache of each ending borrowed, I died 1000 deaths. Yet seeds of my own tales, quietly planted,

With pen and hand, I crafted worlds of my own, Ink spilling forth a river of dreams, Characters developed from the corners of my mind, Stories to which there is no ending, Friends, to whom, There is no forceful goodbye.

Poetry, a rhythm without a beat, Verses flowing, strength in every line, Words and chords, together as one, The guitar's strings a narrative, reflecting my soul.

Words, much more than mere marks on a page, They are the thread of my existence, The breath in my lungs, The beat of my heart. So let the world spin, it’s relentless dance, For when it’s all over, to dust it shall turn, But within the written realm, I am infinite.

(Can’t promise how free verse it will be 🤷‍♀️)

I read a book today And yes I mean in it’s entirety Started it, finished it, cried a lot along the way I found it quite devastating So I’m a bit of an emotional wreck

I can’t find closure It’s my first time reading a story about the terminally ill And I still tear up thinking about it About what he gave up “Five feet apart” wasn’t enough He wanted her to live Because he knows he won’t have as long

God, the first girl he ever loved? Someone he could never touch out of fear he might hurt her? And after months, eight to be exact, a random meeting at an airport Still not close enough to make contact But he saw how healthy she looked The new lungs were doing her good Lungs he would never get Time he didn’t have

But she closed a foot of the gap Standing there, five feet apart again, Maybe their love rekindled, Maybe they traveled the world together, But I wouldn’t know, That’s where the story ends

Leathery backs on ink labored pages, That hold livelihoods and dreams etched into the paper grains that fill out loose spines.

There is a person poured between those pages , Their words and their thoughts dusted on fingertips, And fabricated in imaginative minds.

It is through this text that some ideas are infinite, And some people are immortal through only the words they leave behind.

Old yellowing pages About sorcerers And powerful mages

So many twists and turns Unhappy endings And plot burns

So thick, so thin The bigger the better Make my head spin

I love them books So, so darn much But if you take my book… 😡

Oh books Fantasy Historic Realistic Mystery I love it all I’ll read And read And read Until I have too many paper cuts I can dive into a world full of dragons Or leap into the French Revolution and try the cakes I can live an ordinary life with a small twist to it I can join a crew and solve mysteries throughout the city Whatever I’m reading I can imagine it I can feel it I am the main character No, I’m better than that I’m the reader

“It’ll be so worth it” I said “You’re totally equipped” I said “You’ve got nothing but time!”

Those were the words of a fool In love with those precious things Called words And the way they glimmered Across pages and pages In that sweet phenomenon Called a “book”

And now November is ending My eyes are watering Not with sorrow Not with fatigue But with regret

“Words are stupid!” I said “I hate letters!” I said “Letters can go take a hike!”

And then I was filled with lonesomeness A cold, cold solitude I wondered what those words were up to And if they’d accept my company

Stories blossomed in my mind I struggled to quiet them For I found myself curious If not still a little tired

My bruised brain considered Those 5,000 words Between my complaints And victory Those 5,000 words Like ghosts in a graveyard I knew they existed I knew where to find them I had only to visit their resting place And bring them something beautiful To inspire an appearance

So I pulled my hair up I pulled on my loveliest blouse I pulled my reluctant self Over to my desk I sat down I took a deep breath I sobbed But only a little And then I placed my weary hands On the keyboard I begged my fingers to move

“You’ve only a tenth left” I said “No one will ever read this anyway” I said I grimaced “Maybe just a few people will read this… Give them something good”

They open your eyes to new things. They teach you new words. They help you understand new people. Books make everything new.

When I saw you I smiled When I saw you, it was like seeing an old friend. An old friend that I haven’t seen in years. I pick you up and flip the pages. Rereading the story that had made me smile as a child. I put you back because I’m now an adult and you are still a children’s book.

Smell Old leather Crumbly paper Flipping Sound Ink stained fingers New worlds Old friends Time lost Time found Inspiration Annoyance Laughter Tears Want more Story ends