I want to run away.
Not very far,
maybe just down the street.
To the home of books upon dusty shelves and checkout cards,
I could get away from reality and just read.
Read about fairylands and mythical wastelands
where the heroes end up winning and all the monsters die.
There's no fear,
no hatred.
Just happiness
and I'll squint at the paper pages,
trying to read the small print
as the sunlight drips over it like a fresh oil painting on a hot day.
The sky will shine like a kaleidoscope array
of precious pinks and bright blues.
I'll lean against an old tree
and my back with probably ache several  days later,
but the solitude is worth the pain.

I want to run away,
but my wings won't seem to fly.