placed it on the table
and finally decided
to walk through the door.
For her, a lifetime of corruptions
were then dispelled.
You were suspected.
I was an implement.
They would do nothing.
The book could encompass
what otherwise impossible thoughts
might carry the imaginer away in their dreams.
Delivering that final comeuppance,
the journey of a lifetime, or simply to re-exist.
One need only cast their thoughts into those pages.
And who wouldn’t pay the price?
The elevator had been serviced dozens of times,
and none could circumvent it's curious course.
Some whispered a curious curse
when it arrived at the lobby with no one on-board.
All weren’t lost, indeed, many returned
after fabulous adventures or a miraculous cure.
Always, there lay the book,