The Purpose of Books

I lived my life inside the pages

of all my favorit stories.

Time and time again

I was whisked away 

to fantastic worlds,

where I was able to

fly on the backs of dragons,

cast spells with cackling witches, 

and explore far away galaxies.

A reader lives a thousand lives

each more exciting than their own.

I emerged myself inside my books,

until they were more real than my reality.

Paper people were my friends,

fictional relms my home,

I took on the identity of my characters,

and lost myself completely.

For a time, I lived there happily

between the lines of my stories,

but I had isolated myself,

I had cut myself off from the world

and attempted to join another,

one I could never truly be a part of.

Print on paper cannot replace 

relationships and human interaction,

nor can it bring you the joy 

of a friends laugh or a mothers hug.

Books were not made to supersede your life,

but to enhance them.

 

 

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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