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