I admit it. I'm a self-professed addict. That's the first step, right? Admitting it? For the fun of it, I've written a (rare, for me) rhyming poem. Maybe I can pull you in to my addiction... take you down with me, right? ;)
The blanketed voices of dusty friends,
The reams of pages that rarely end
Without a good guy or a bad girl or a butler's sin;
Just two more pages before I turn in -
Or ten or twenty or two hundred and four.
The world of fiction is never a bore.
One a.m., two a.m., rub sleep from my eyes.
It's three a.m., I can't say my good-byes.
The professor's about to go over a cliff,
If he'd listened to her, I'd be asking "What if?"
What if he'd gone down the opposite road
And taken his turn to riddle the code?
What if he'd seen the main girl get shot
And dragged down the ditch where last they'd fought?
And turned full around
And dug underground
To find a tunnel
Where they buried a funnel
That led to the land
Of red flowers and sand.
Oh if only I'd known how the story would be,
I'd not have read to the hour of three.
More like four, five or six or seven or eight.
While my kids are all waiting for food on their plates,
I'd be propping my lids and wishing I had
Snoozed a just a bit. 'Cause now I'll be mad
As a hose-soaked cat who got teased by the kids,
All because I refused to shut my lids.
All for the sake of a really good book.
And all because I just had to look.