Leather-Bound Fear

She walked into the small bookstore,
Looking to make her dull life more.
She stalked about, didn’t want to go home,
Until she found the perfect tome.
The dusty shelves stood in dim light,
Making you squint to see the sight,
Of books stacked high upon the wood,
Hidden beneath that twilight hood.
The woman prowled the quiet shop,
Seeking a book to make her drop.
The book that would make her heart pound,
Until imagination ran aground.
Her eyes lit on a timeworn book,
Whispering to her, ‘Take a look’
She whisked it off the shelf to see
If this book held secrecy.
She opened up the leather cover,
To see what she could discover,
And simply fell into the page,
Onto a moor of heather and sage.
Alone on a hill, the book had fallen down,
Onto the cold, hard, dirty gray ground.
The woman collapsed into a heap,
Thinking to wake up, if she were asleep.
But the moor was all too real,
To escape would be futile.
Or so she thought, until she found
The old book lying on the ground.
She wanted to return so much,
Yet the book twitched upon her touch.
It opened to the middle exact,
And spoke in a voice both stony and cracked.
“I am the Book of your Worst Fears,”
“The Book of danger, death, and leers,”
“Open me to see your soul,”
“To see what lies in you, untold.”
“I can not be destroyed, you see,
“For I have history within me.”
“Many men have sought me out,
“To see what fear was all about,”
“They found me; yes they did, all right,”
“And I gave them quite a fright.”
“For inside my leather shell,”
“I know you surprisingly well.”
This monologue was frightening,
To the woman it was enlightening.
She said, “How do you know what lies,
In my heart, it should surprise,
All who long to see my mind,
It should be mine to keep or hide!”
“Indeed it should,” answered the voice,
“And you deserve to have that choice,”
“You seem different than ones before,
“Who always seemed to ignore,
“That you can’t hide what’s in your head,
“I can read you, like I once was read.”
“So how can I get home?” she asked,
Dreading the answer to be unmasked.
“There is a way, though I must warn,
“That many before you have been mourned,
“Although their fate remains unknown,
“It’s almost certain that they have flown,
“To the land that awaits us all,
“Once we have heard the final call.”
“Please tell me how to leave this place!”
The woman cried, red in the face,
“I’ve never wanted anything more,
“Then to leave this place and walk through the door,
“Back to my home I love so much,
“I’ve never wanted more to be touched,
“By another human hand,
“I’m amazed that there’s no-one in this land!”
“And there you have it,” said the book,
Silencing her without a look.
“That is the only way to go back,
“When you’ve found out what it is you lack.
“You never were alone, not once,
“So that’s what haunts your consciousness,”
“You have now found out what you fear,
“And balanced it with what you hold near.”
With that, the book relaxed its spine,
The pages flew open, and in no time,
The woman was back in that dusty store,
Holding the book that fought its own war.
Shaking her head and rubbing her eyes,
She let out her breath in an enormous sigh.
And she walked to the counter, still holding the tome,
That she would purchase before she went home.
And as she walked out of that dingy old place,
She swore that she heard a muffled “Thanks.”

Copyright 2008 by Rebecca Norman