An Author's Stage

Thoughts are faraway, though they should be near,

All my thoughts nowadays seem to steer

Away from my senses, far, faraway,

To another land--maybe today?

Books are opened, words are read,

I opened my mouth, I wish I hadn't said,

The words that made them leap off the page,

Making life like an author's stage.

Characters walking, roaming the earth,

At first it was great--I was full of mirth,

But soon dangerous things seemed to surround me,

I had to get them back--but I'd lost the key.

I searched high and low, for years, it was,

I had to find, had to find it because,

The people from the books had escaped into our world,

And the unstoppable fate's ship, its sails unfurled.

I found it one day, looking through books,

I didn't care about the strange looks,

That I got as I jumped with victory,

Because, now at least, I had the key.

I read the words, on the page,

And suddenly it was the book that was the stage,

They were swept back up, into the book,

And with relief, I finally shook.

So now I don't read, well, only with my eyes,

For if I did it with my mouth, you'd been in for a surprise,

For the characters, good and bad, would jump off the page,

And suddenly our world would be an author's stage.

The Old Family Bible

Picture from Pinterest.

I see the old family Bible,

Sitting quietly on the table.

I look around at the old house,

As rough as a stable.

In the Bible's pages,

Are tucked pictures--memories,

I pick it up, old in my hands,

It's here--and I have the keys.

I open the family Bible,

The pages flip quietly,

I look down at the words,

Wanting to unlock the mystery,

I want to find the precious words,

That I was read long ago.

I wanted to read about the parable,

When the farmer did sow.

About some birds, I'm pretty sure,

It's something that Jesus told,

And I sat down at that table,

And studied that Bible of old.

The pages were worn from many a hand,

Creased from many a teardrop.

But I just kept flipping--flipping on,

At the parable I didn't stop.

I flipped through all the pages,

Some ripped by small children's hands,

And my own teardrops mingle on the page,

As I wonder what's happening to our lands.

That page and serenity of the old family Bible,

Is dying out in this harsh and cruel world.

Where God is forgotten and Jesus is sworn,

And where fates were forgotten unfurled.