PDA

View Full Version : The Book



ArcThomas
September 21st, 2010, 05:05 AM
There's a place I escape too..

It's here

there
and where
the Nick-nacks and fingerlings, wordcracks and gttools

Your feet leave the ground, as you trail off into a space void of space
and yet expanse is so great you, look, fear
but wait
the pages, grow weary and begin to transform. If ou had to read them, you'd quit, lose, reform.
as your knowing becomes not, and not becomes so.
as you traverse the boardwalk you find money has no name:
no takers, no game
the wind is up and down and sideways as always but your voice has no sound.
as you enter the room,
the man with no thumbs greedy and smiling thumbs up points
to the man with no fingers who sits chubby and upset, but smiling on a bench next to the wall
as the already faded fading limelight hues of yello w all disperse you begin to walk the path.
You know because you were told
and you were told because you know
Just then the trail si dark,
and you know cause you see The forest is green.though the room still hides
you want, and you'd guess
no toll, no fee, Roddents cross the path. Big black and gone
your walking, you'd stumble but you should just glide. Bird find their catch, though from where, swing. strong
time has no meaning
cause you wait for nothing
in a place, no answer could be given
where no question could be asked

the trail though dark is sunlit and frayed. and for once a choice is your to be made.
to go straight, to the suniest. left up out and away. Back, winding, and shaded.. a question left you delayed. water on every step.

the trail comes to a room, in the thick of the wood. where upon the pebble stone trail
a fat wit is now waiting.

"Who are you?" it is you who would ask
"Ah-haumm. dear booy." he would laugh without say

Turning a glazed look, he replies.
"Hello. I'm Nincom-Poop."

though his hand is lifted as though to hold up a pipe, he is anked, and bald.
and you know it is him that you've come to see.

but the book closes.

You see Harry."

Dumbledor said, his hand firmly placed on the cover of the thick book.
Harry had almost forgotten how he had become situated at the end of the long wooden table.
The story had shredded his scene of reality, as yours has been now.
And what came before was just after, in a paradox some how.
but as conciseness came and the darkness arrived. the story began where it left off
where it thrives...
two pages spread, before dreaming eyes.