Why Do I Read That Story?

I read that story often when I’m in the confine,

Of a mind all confounded and a broken heart in mine.

Cold and shivering when I sit in deathly pale moonlight,

Why does that soul within me recite that story of might?

Despair becomes an illusion as that story devours my sight,

My reality takes a refuge in the fiction of a fable’s twilight.

When a man challenged by time, deprived of strength sublimes,

Why do I feel a hope that in the real world wasn’t mine?

The practical real world makes some things feel like crime,

Then why do I read that story which gives me hope all time?

When I come to ponder on it, unravels the reality of the real,

That story appears practical and reality surrenders to the surreal.

Maybe it is to believe that life can be forged in your own way,

That I read that story sometimes to be erect where reality might sway.