In the books, I have read from there are stories I've fed on where the sky's not the limit because you're soaring above it and the heavens open wide to let the pilgrims inside and the page turns again.

A chapter or two of laughter and through to the serious stuff where the murders ensue and the victims bleed through to the next page and in each page I shall meet, every sheet that has covered until the death is discovered and the pipe smoking detective pulls a grimace and says,
'this one's seen better days take him away'
and he then does a study of those who would study the ****** corpse.

When the night blinds me, day takes me into and in through the electron microscope and if I think there's a chance to escape and see my way out of here the lights fall full on me, a slide under scrutiny, I am tried and convicted by the end of the book.

Every book in its time has taken the time to speak to me, roughly or eloquently and in the speaking I've found higher ground, a view with a will and one that might **** but I have to read just one more before I'm Swallowed by Amazons on a far distant shore,
to demystify the lie and seek out the truth lies within each slim volume and I consume them all.