A Personal Helicon
No one could keep me from books. Fantasy, action, fairy tales, I love them all. The soft swish of the pages turning to uncover Wizards, battles, aliens, princesses and happy endings. The smell envelopes me like a blanket, The crisp chemical smell of a book brand new. I savour the comforting smell of wood that Emanates from an aged and yellowed page. The cover invites me in, to An army of black characters lined up with little room, Creating pictures of the spectrum, That dance before my eyes. It becomes another limb, That I battle sleep to keep. Time goes on, unbeknownst to me, The fictional world hesitant to let me free.