She has read a many,
And maybe lived a few
The world she chose is just upon
A hundred books or two
In fiction she had found a friend,
In every verse or line,
Or maybe in the characters
That she has loved divine
On every page her hands caressed,
She left a piece of her
And from them she also took
What minds could never spur,
For books, they're meant to carry
What odds can't understand,
So all her books, for all her life
She carried with her hands,
The stars have named her paper girl
More fictitious than alive,
She longed for happy ever after
But chance had her deprived
They say her life's a novel
A poignant one it seems,
For every time she wished of love,
The letters can't be seen
So don't you promise her with words,
For every time she falls,
But with all the happy endings
And true love, most of all
YOU ARE READING
Paper & Ink |#Wattys2016|
Poetry"I am the black on white; the ink on paper." A collection of my nightly thoughts and daydreams. Highest rank: #5 in Poetry. Please enjoy reading and find a friend in one of my works. :)
