They sit on our shelves,
On coffee tables, and nightstands.
Collecting dust, turning yellow,
Without them we live our lives
Day by day with little or no adventure;
Little or no horror (except on the news);
Little or no romance
(Only what significant others provide);
Cleaning house, watching children,
Working a meaningless job.
You see one lying untouched,
Aged corners bent, covered in Dust.
You pick it up.
Reverently you open the cover.
Turning the pages, you enter
Into the fantastic life that now awaits;
Dashing heros, ancient wars,
Vampire horror, and steamy romance.
Curled up on the sofa
You leave yours behind
And startup anew.
Oh, what a book can do.