The only magic I know,
Can be found inside a book.
The story never varies,
And the text is still the same,
Yet every time I read those words again,
I somehow find new meaning,
This same book with these same words,
Leaves me changed each time somehow,
Different paragraphs and passages stick out,
And reveal new truths I couldn’t see before.
Lines that I read a dozen times,
Now have the power to make me cry.
My likeness to the protagonist only grows,
I’m dumbfounded and in awe of this.
A book I read when I was twelve,
Is still relevant at twenty-two,
And will be even more when I read it again.