The Book

1.

A single solitary puppet trudges
Across the deserted pages
Of the book

The illustrations are barren
For it is winter
In the book

The girl marches slowly
Across the dusty pages
Of the book

A few bold words stand out
The rest meekly blend in

She calls out to pure nothingness
“Winter is barren here, can I find but one bright illustration?”

She continues on
With nothing to mark her journey
Except the eerie silence

But she is lucky
For many ideas
Either ran away
Or were discarded
Before they were ever put to paper

These ideas
And many others
Now lay down as snow

A new day dawns
It is brighter
But still
The pages are covered in dust

The sky is clear and colorful
Maybe a reader will come!
This hope goes down to the pages’ roots of rust

The day wears on
Growing darker

And once again
The night is empty
Save a single solitary puppet
Trudging across the pages
Of the book

2.

She knew the words
Walked the pages
Knew the story
Remembered the stages
In her youth and in her ages

When a reader was found
Hope was profound
Yet she knew
There was no home left

The book was thrown away
But she survived
And will tell the story
Until the pages grow old
And she dies

3.

She was created with words
Words that ran wild
She was the story’s very own child

Surviving strong
Living long
Clearing the dust
Wiping away the rust

Finishing the story
And living the worry

Remembering the times she knew
Especially when the book was born anew

Then she died
And there was no one left to cry

4.

The clouds were grey
The day was dim
The sun was covered in dust

The grass was dead
Hope was gone
The wind stopped in its tracks

The girl was sad
The pages’ rust deepened every day

The characters were gone
All that remained was a song

A song of peace, despair
And love’s own gong

But she had not the heart to sing it
She had not the heart.

5.

The clouds, they puzzled her
Would they remember too?

The sun, it brightened her
Filling her with hope anew

The wind, it brought her news
That blew her heart beyond her reach

6.

The book was gone
Hope was dust
Smoke was in the air

The dream died
The cry cried
The words had vanished there

The girl was weak
The floor creaked
Her dreams were beyond here

She was alone
In the woods
Through the foggy woods

Her new home
Was a dark shape in the distance
A beacon in the dawn

7.

She was there
In the woods
Where the sparrows sang

She was there
In the heart of it
Where the bluebells called

Across the meadow
Through the woods
Strength came

Dragging herself
Dragging
Dragging

She walked on
The only thing to mark her journey
Was the rustling breeze

She came to a cabin
Old with age
Worn with wear
Torn with tear

Yet she found strength in the dust
Strength in the rust

Epilogue

Her hair was black
Black despair
Hope gone elsewhere

Her feet were heavy
Leaden stones
Trying hard to walk home

Her dress was torn
Tattered words
Too lost to be on their own