Dusted Gold Poem by Rin Kathy

There it sits
Is its spine
Glaring at you?
You told yourself
You knew
That book is death
That book is evil
You know better
Those pages
So yellow with age
That they seem,
A golden hew
That book,
Is it staring at you?
It can’t be it’s only a book,
How could it?
Is it possible?
Slowly
Very slowly
You reach and,
You pulled back your hand,
But to no avail,
Too late,
Your evil hand has done it.
Done what?
Grabbed those golden brushed pages,
That is what.
Slowly and against your will,
Your hands open the stiff material,
That makes up the cover,
And in you dive,
To the lands of immortals,
Wherever the pages may take you,
Wherever the author has imagined,
Wherever you let yourself go.
But you stop when the door creaks,
Outside you see darkness,
And inside no light.
But what had happened to that world?
The world you were in moments ago?
It became gone in an instant.
Where did it go?
And can you go back?