Henry's poetry

poem. 07

Fog on my glasses from the steaming coffee I was drinking, 

A book in my hands, as I casually read it like every time.

A catch suddenly in my breath, and I was deaf to the outside world.

With the climax grows near, my mind's in nine clouds of fantasy

Oh thy lord, the world I've always dreaming of in the magical pages —

The book was all I could heard, and I was completely lost now.

Or perhaps, I was found in the strange paper world,

The magnificent, beautiful magic world I adore

That's far from the reality we live.