With breathless hands, I hold the book,
The pages are new, with a crisp smell;
I take a deep breath, before I dare to look,
Wondering what tale the words would tell.

The cover is smooth, painted in many a shade,
The blurb promises adventures, fun and magic;
Love versus hatred, intrigue against betrayal played,
And wizardry that would surely defy rational logic.

I laugh with them, shed tears for their sorrow, 
Uncaring for reality, as imagination does beckon;
Losing myself, eagerly in their footsteps I follow,
But, alas, all too soon, the perilous journey is done.

It is never just words, they are tales the heart retains;
For long after the book is closed, the story remains.

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A sonnet for the TeamofDreams - Pass the Poetry prompt for the week of September 27, 2019.