an old book: a poem

the cover is missing,
but that’s okay—
makes it lighter.

first few pages
are gone.

first visible line says
“that Jesus prov…”
end of first line.

page corner torn away
like an old
treasure map
(although
the real treasure
was within, all along).

the bottom corner,
stained brown
from a
mysterious alien liquid
(probably coffee).

pages,
ripped, frayed and tattered,
seemingly made of the original
Dead Sea scrolls
themselves.

exposed spine
with paper flesh
eroded away and discarded
some years ago.
only the glue backing
remains,
holding it all together,
like my life.

pages dog-eared
like unfinished
origami projects,
curling inward
to protect the
precious contents.

strips of duct tape
affied like silver Band-Aids
to keep the back attached,
and cover up tears.
(the tape-to-cardstock ratio skewed.)

page pieces severed
and scattered
to the four winds
of Phoenix.

delicate innards—
jaundiced and soft—
covered in
food grease,
drink stains,
and
finger oil.

scribbles in the margins
like a school textbook.
do you trust my answers?
I don’t.

verses
highlighted,
underlined,
and circled.

has that musty,
dusty,
and enchanting
old book smell.

falling apart
on the outside,
yet,
the word of God
remains intact.

it is old
and worn
and anything but gaudy,
but it’s mine.

it saved my life
and I would argue
that’s all that matters
in the end.

###

this is a poem from my book bearing the burden of existence, available on Amazon.

Be sure to check out my blog, A Soul Redeemed.