As the world outside
Grows a darkening grey
I look to your pages
To spirit me away.
The smell of pressed paper
And the crack of the spine
Distracts from the heartache
And the social decline.
As I observe your markings,
I hallucinate a dream
Of fairness and justice
Unlike what I’ve seen.
The world all around me
Knocks hard at the door.
While I sit seeing visions
Of timelines galore.
Heroes and mermaids
A dragon that sings,
If only real life
Had more of these things.
With every printed word
And each ambiguous phrase
The ice of life melts
With the warmth of the day.
While hours pass me by
And the world becomes calm
My heart starts to heal
With your meaningful balm.
As night turns to light
And the birds start to sing
My body gives in
To that elusive “sleep” thing.
My eyes start to close
Since I’ve now found my peace.
For your art brought me comfort
And forced trauma to cease.
As my breaths start to slow
And grow deeper apart
You rest on me gently,
Right over my heart.
About the Creator
Arthur Armstrong
A being of duality, poetic irreverence, and maddening nonsense.
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