poems

books

My books are home to me,
They consume my walls
And make their burrow
I'm my mind,

My books are home to me,
My mind can wander
To far of places
And never get lost.

My books are home to me,
The words flow on the paper
Into paragraphs and pages
Creating a story, buried in my head.

My books are home to me,
I can see the fae
Dancing in grass circles
Without a scratch on their bare feet.

My books are home to me,
With swords and magic
Dragons and nymphs
Mischievous goblins and wise old owls.

My books are home to me,
I can journey to distant lands
I can fight gruesome enemies
And I will never be defeated.

My books are home to me,
I see ballrooms and dresses
Suits and ties
People falling in love.

My books are home to me,
I see wolves becoming human
I see witches becoming cats
I see wizards becoming overcome with magic.

My books are home to me,
I see people crying
I see people laughing
I see people living.

My books are home to me,
I see trees standing tall
Moss overflowing on the bark
Vines creeping around the branches.

My books are home to me,
I see splashing waterfalls
With fish in the pool
And panthers looking for their evening meal.

My books are home to me,
I see castles standing in the distance
Where royalty is sleeping
Their comfort a burden to the poor.

My books are home to me,
I see small cafes serving coffee
And run-down neighborhoods in Brooklyn
With cars driving down the road.

My books are home to me,
I see people running around the London streets
Eager to get home before rush-hour
Hungry for their supper.

My books are home to me,
They calm my senses
And sway my mind
Into a gentle sleep.

My books are home to me,
They smell of sweet cinnamon candles
And bushes of lavender
And a witches potion, that'll turn you into a cricket.

My books are home to me,
They gather dust, and smell like déjà vu
They are newly bought, and smell like a new adventure
They are worn and broken and loved, but they smell like home to me.

My books are home to me,
They smell like ancient forests
Covered in moss and littered with waterfalls
Filled with the scent of forbidden magic.

My books are home to me,
They smell like Grandma's apple pie
And Uncle Luke's Chinese restaurant
And Mama's art room full of paint.

My books are home to me,
They smell of recently bought parchment
Fresh quills and ink
Of old classrooms with musty chalk.

My books are home to me,
They smell of gasoline
In New York City
Of pizza being sold in the street.

My books are home to me,
They smell of the salty ocean air
In L.A and Cornwall
Ice-cream bought on the beach.

My books are home to me,
They smell of a well-used kitchen
Of spices and chocolate
Basil being sprinkled in tonight's dinner.

My books are home to me,
They smell of blood
Pouring out of wounds
Splattering across my face.

My books are home to me,
They smell of buildings set on fire
They smell of betrayal and regret
A vow of revenge whispered in the young girls heart.

My books are home to me,
I read their words and fall into their stories
I sit in my room for hours
Travelling to places I could never imagine on my own.

My books are home to me,
Calming my mind
With gentle words
And music from far off kingdoms.

My books are home to me,
I can hear a sorceress chanting in the forest
The animals scurrying away
The branches under my feet crunching as I move closer.

My books are home to me,
I can hear wind rustling the leaves
Playing with branches on the trees
The birds singing from their nests.

My books are home to me,
I can hear the oven timer going of
I can hear the bread coming out of the oven
I can hear Aunty slicing up the bread, ready to eat.

My books are home to me,
I can hear screams in the distance
The battle raging on without me
But my horse whinnies, urging me to turn around.

My books are home to me,
My home is Wonderland
With Alice
And her white rabbit.

My books are home to me,
My home is a tower
In the middle of nowhere
With Rapunzel and her chamaeleon.

My books are home to me,
My home is the brambles
Surrounding the old castle
Fighting towards The Sleeping Beauty.

My books are home to me,
My home is a forest
Searching and searching
For Little Red Riding Hood.

My books are home to me,
My home is a cottage in the woods
Helping the dwarves with their dishes
And running away from the Huntsman.

My books are home to me,
The pages are wrinkled
The corners are folded
The spines are crumpled
But they are home to me.