The book tree

There is a world where books live, nestled betwixt the shelved leaves of magnificent trees

Rumor has it, that if any humans, fairies, ogres, or aliens of any sorts

Should be so lucky, or unlucky as the whispers go

To bravely venture into this world of trees, leaves and books

And foolishly, even wisely dare to turn any of these tree-ly pages

They would forever become the story written within its pages

The only hope for escape from such a fate

Is if someone picks this book from off the wonderous tree

And indulge in the gratification of a timely and leisurely read

I pondered the world of fairy tales and swash buckling handsome knights

And decided that I would rather love to be included

In the lovely pages of the trees where books lived, and thrived

In exotic adventures, magical imaginings, mischievous fancies

And danger at every turn of the whimsical and fluttering pages

And so, I visited the amazing grove of trees with leaves of books

I picked a book, carefully unfolding its anticipated wonders

And happily disappeared into its fluttering mystical landscape

I explored magic, fantasy, fictitious dreamscapes and falling in love

With handsome princes, clever knaves and roguish tempting devils

Pretty soon, however, I became nostalgic for the life which I once knew

I waited, knowing, hoping that soon, someone would choose my book

And release me from this world of pure, beautiful imaginings

For reality will always beckon us back, after all the fun is done.

I waited for a whole year

Yet no one came. No one chose my erstwhile, whilom unread book

I had somehow become my own "once upon a time" and was forgotten

Then one day, a dark child arrived with his poppa

He reached up his grubby little hands and plucked by book

On the cover was death, holding tightly to his scythe and laughing

In hindsight, I saw why no one had chosen my book

Who wants to visit Death's laughing face within a book

This likeness though, had also fascinated this dark young soul

The Devil and his son had decided to pay a visit to the famous trees

Down to Hell the two returned, keeping my book closed up tight

Grinning malevolently, the little tyke opened up the book

My troubles now were just beginning

He hid that book where no one would ever find it!

Never volunteer your freedom to the tree of books...or at least

First find yourself a willing reader

To free you from the pages of the Trees filled with books!

For many dark years, I suffered in the endless inferno

Neither aging, changing, nor even burning

I was not predestined to be in this hellish place.

The young man had since become my friend

One day he invited me back into the book

Offering me a chance at freedom up above, once again

He took the book. We travelled up to earth, I was truly hopeful

As he sat upon a bench, seeking yet another booked soul

To accompany him on his hellish journey

A mighty gust of wind blew open the pages of the book

Out I jumped.

Free at last!

He pouted and fumed, then left in a huff and heated rage.

I am now the Librarian and guardian of the tree

Feel free to wander here and read my books

For, ever and often, I open every book

So every soul may stay or leave

As often as they please!

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This poem is written as a tribute to the love of books and of writing our own versions of stories as seen through our own unique eyes. The metaphors are meant to encourage us to make wise decisions, implement contingency plans and to choose our paths wisely.

Still, never be afraid to explore life and its many wonderful and fanciful opportunities. Forge forward into the fray, take risks (not too dangerous) make mistakes, fall in love, fall out of love, have regrets, have hopes, have heartbreaks, heartaches and dreams. Just always bounce back stronger than before. Be your own gatekeeper, but always look out for the welfare of others.

Never give up, never surrender!

I got lost in the romance of it all.

Just have fun doing what you do!

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