Dabbling in Poetry - Ode: Not Quite Reality (An Ode to Literature)

Not Quite Reality: An Ode to Literature941Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX5X7XQReQx

A spiderweb of black ink,

Ensnared between pages,

Hands reaching through,

Pulled into an embrace.

Like Alice down a rabbit hole,

Drifting through curious and archaic language,

As the paper flutters like feathers,

Brushing hands with gentle caresses.

The smell of paper, leather, ink,

The smell of this body,

Worn skin and spine display love and age,

Unjudged by outer appearance,

Bones etched with markings,

A heart made up of words,

The blood a jet black stamp,

Without the ability to speak,

These journeys can still be told,

Every heartbeat creating rhythmic fables.

Whenever set aside parts of a soul linger,

Clinging to an illusion of fantasy,

Caught up in a whirlwind of words,

Unable to accept that it doesn’t last forever,

Paper on paper whispers songs of legend and lore,941Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4XnVpRLXa6

Forever lost in a never-ending labyrinth of scripture.

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