The Art of Flying

It was left in the rain.
The purple color faed, the chapters
smudged and the soggy pages cried.
It was stuck on the sidewalk,
abandoned in a rectangular prison
that held penguins and dolphins trapped on each
page. The book, alone and frightened, as the
sidewalk was a scary place where
harmful people trampled with no one
looking downward.

It wasn't long before the papers
lost hope. Knowing they'd never
fall to deaf ears. Understanding they
wouldn't be the smart source for readers
to find. Perceiving that its soft pages would never
again find the enjoyment of a soul and
the laughter of the child finding it all too handy.
The book was alone in a big, dark and soaked
world where no one watched where
they were walking.

One day, the rain stopped.
The sun shone and
the pages began to dry their tears. The book
exhaled from the heat. The sidewalk
no longer seemed so
scary. Then a weird thing happened.
Right as the
     chapters softened,
         the pages, one by one,
                     floated
                            toward the sky.
                                                                               upward,
Blowing in the wind. The colorful pages moved             since no one bothered
                                                                                                                            looking down.