You walk for weeks upon weeks
Same clothes, dirty skin, untamed hair
The ground is your bed, rocks your pillows, the leaves your sheets
You travel without direction or care
At first you had qualms about adventure,
Sure it wasn’t your forte.
But then you go, have fun, see the world, how it’s pure
You become a legend, find treasure, fulfill quests without pay
And when it’s all done, when you go home - you wish to be back
You sleep on a bed too soft, food too extensive, clothes too clean
Yearning for fields to roam, for it is adventure life lacks
Walls of white when you’re aching for meadows of pink, blue, green
So you dream of these foreign lands
Never to be seen again, never to be traveled, never to be appreciated
You smear graphite onto parchment with your hands
Fill a leather bound book with words, create the world once more, the world you founded
Your pencil becomes your sword, paper your shield
Words are your new escape, your new adventure
In stories you’re the Queen, you become the knight that kneeled
You become the most noble, of the lands you stir
All because of a story written on paper
All those foreign lands become closer
This poem is about: 
Our world


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