A feeling lately none too unfamiliar, a longing strengthened
Her own pain throbbing like a pulsating sliver of gleaming light
Alive in its inanimate intensity
She trying to sell herself yet another story
Of a protagonist who ends the tale happy
Snared in the fine print of black on white
Naïve, she missed the words in shades of grey
If only all she had to do was click her heels and say
“ There’s no place like home. There’s no place like home”
Wouldn’t she wake up in her own bed tomorrow?
Caught up in lines, she forgot the universal truth
Escapism is mere make-believe, a glorious untruth.