A book is a door.

by justbekozlowski

A book is a door,
To a room you’ve not seen,
And inside there are people,
From another mind’s dream,
Their subjective appearance,
Is a thing of great wonder,
Who you see as ginger,
For me, might be blonder.
In the cupboards are worlds,
Filled with unknown locations,
All acquired from some words,
And sometimes with patience,
Four’s doors open up,
When it wants you to see,
What happens past chapters,
Numbers one to three.
Like a lift made of stories,
Books can build like a tower,
Each chapter, a floor,
And on each floor, a flower.
On the roof there’s a garden,
You can see touch and smell,
It’s so close to heaven,
It’s like vertigo hell.
Each story has beauty,
And in each word is a life,
As the hand which is writing,
Also cuts with a knife.
Each book holds a window,
And the cover’s the door,
If you’re nosey like I am,
Then you’ll want to read more.