The Bookish Boy

Inspiration struck and I wrote a poem this evening.

He was the bookish boy

His friends never could quite understand

why when they wanted to go out

he would rather stay in

While they danced at the club

he sat in a coffee shop

his nose buried in musty pages

While they played in the park

he was sprawled under a tree

reading in the shade

While they shopped at the mall

he sat by the fountain

his recently-used library card acting as a bookmark

Even when it stormed and they danced in the rain

he sat curled up in an armchair

a book held open in his splayed hand

They always said that he was missing out

That he needed to live a little

Go on adventures with them

What they could not see

was all the many places he had been

The fantastical worlds he had visited

The people - and creatures - he had met

The thrill of the quest

The joy of love

The sting of heartbreak

He had set foot

on all seven continents and more

Just by opening the book

Getting lost in the pages

Letting the words and occasional illustration

transport him wherever he wanted to go

He was the bookish boy

None of them had even known he was sick

until he was gone

While they had been out and about

They had not noticed him as he silently read

Shrinking

He had smiled as they romped

Chuckled while they ‘oo’ed and ‘ah’ed over their purchases

He had known they would go farther than him

Go places he could never hope to see

He did not hold it against them

In fact, he was glad for them

The books had been his passport

The library his refuge

His imagination his escape

When he read he could forget

that he would never see the world

Because in those pages

he became a part of it