Open me up again,
seek within my worn pages,
dusty though I might be,
my words are even more ancient.
Peeling back the covering skin,
see what I might hide within,
the answer to your questions
written in the blood of men.
Every nuance and distinction,
every sin and incantation,
lay within my pages hidden,
knowledge long ago forbidden.
You come
with your eyes
and mind
like knives,
an appetite
to devour me,
that I
might shine a light,
illuminate
the darkness
of your entity.
Run your fingers
through my pages.
You will touch
the words of ages.
Life in you,
power in me,
or so you believe.
Do you have
what it takes
to make me bleed
all of my secrets out?
Even if you
consume me
will you see,
or will your heart
still doubt?
There are many perfect pictures,
but only one perfect work,
here inside me
lies the answer
to all the problems of your world.
Turn an eye
and stalk the shadow
to where I sit upon the shelf,
waiting patient
in this body;
the meaning of
all life itself.
HG – 2021