Tree House of Books (Poem)


There is a place where the real world disappears,

Where the burdens of life cannot follow,

And freedom is finally found.


A place where the only words are written, not spoken.

It is  quiet and peaceful,

Not a soul to be found but my own.


There is a perfect place in our dreams,

A place every book lover know,

A place where there is nothing but adventure,

A place where real friends gather.

Complete solitude with page bound friends,

Where freedom from the world begins,

And the real world outside ends.




There is only hope for what the next page brings,

No worries of today, tomorrow, or after,

Surrounded by pages filled with tears and laughter.

This is where we hide when it all becomes too much,

This place of comfort,

Welcoming you with open pages,

To the worlds inside.


There is a place,

If only in dreams,

Where loneliness fades into a page, and we are all welcome to escape.

Escape the sorrows of reality and become someone else.

Hidden in the trees,

With finally more than just your head in the clouds.


This place of dreams exists to those who need it most,

For those who close their eyes, wishing to be elsewhere,

And hide their faces in a book.


This special place welcomes all,

And I hide there all the time.

Surrounded by friends who wait there on the page,

Friends who forever wait for me,

And do not change when I leave.


If you ever need to find me,

That is where I’ll be.

I’ll be there in the dark,

Hidden in the stacks of books in this tree,

Lost somewhere out there,

Finally in the proper book,

For the abandoned and the lonely it exists,

If only they know to look.

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