Never had a day passed,
Without a book in hand,
Stories, poems, biographies, every kind,
From every possible land.
No moment was spared,
Of the lust for the written word
As the mind's eye conceived images
Seen like the ground below, to a soaring bird
Nose in books, a bookworm I was called
And never did it bother me
A book was my happy space
The place I could be
Peaceful and explore the whole world and beyond
As the bookworm devoured the pages
So it happened that it started telling its own stories
And here we are today, me with words spilling out
Hardly able to contain my glee
That finally
I have found my voice once more
There is no more hiding for the bookworm now
And I must somehow
Muster the courage to explore
My own voice, my own style, my own tales
Of places and people, known or unknown
As they say, come into my own
Find the wind for my sails!
Bookworm no more, but a book writer...
Come into the light