A Grave of Stories

Build me a grave of books,

So that I can go on living.

My soul, floating between pages,

Trying to actualise the fantasy.

I would lie on the misty mud, 

Close to the cherishing Earth.

All I would feel is pages flapping,

With my soul’s breath.

No matter if it is softly covered or hard,

They would build the walls of my coffin,

Red, black, white and cyan,

I’d love them all…

They would open up into pages,

And reach places of interest,

Which would colour a new tale,

And the crackling words would take 

My soul through a new trail.