I am thousands of words,
That are never read,
The world never explored,
I hold the depth of all
Those mysteries characters'
Motives within myself,
Which no critic ever saw.
I contain all eye colors,
Histories of the criminal and the sage,
Maps of worlds and places,
That never made it to the page.
Without me, all the tales in the world,
Would hold a single meaning.
Without me, all beauty of exploring another world
Would be reduced to simply reading.
Those who acknowledge my existence,
Find pleasure and awe in the fact,
That their personal observations,
Were never my author's intentions.