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A Tale Of Two Tomes

by Carol Connell
https://writeathome.wordpress.com/

The finest Moroccan leather tome
sat regally on display,
the Bible from her grandma,
a gift on their wedding day.

Scarcely touched pages still snowy white
graced by golden filigree,
sitting safely inside the curio
for all passersby to see.

To have such a lavish copy as this,
one might say they're quite blessed,
but God looking down from heaven,
felt sad rather than impressed.

She told herself she should read it
but with busy cares of life,
work, family and pressing plans,
with excuses her mind was rife.

So sacred writ sat there year after year
just merely a decoration,
not life giving words to be read and loved
to procure a soul's salvation.
****************************
But not very far away
on the other side of town
lay a Bible on oaken coffee table
its cover, a faded brown.


Sticking out from the bottom of this tome
that looked to be bruised and battered,
blue ribbon that served as a bookmark
hung limply, its end frayed and tattered.

Upon opening the much used Book,
the pages were yellowed and worn.
Many were scribbled with notes;
some damaged and slightly torn.

One look at this bestseller's spine,
revealed a binding quite loose.
There was even a page stained purple
from unexpected spilling of juice.

Tear stains were found throughout
that could not be denied,
from the owner of this Blessed tome,
evidence she was moved and had cried.

Turning through the threadbare pages,
declared that its leaves were hue loaded,
varied verses that with colored pencils
had been categorized and coded.

There were browns for repentance, blues for baptism,
reds for the Holy Ghost,
purples for holiness, greens for creation,
with the One God yellows, the most.

To the eye of the average beholder,
this manuscript, not a pretty sight,
but God looked down from Heaven
with wonder and delight.

For the Bible was never meant to be
just an ornamental frill,
but to be read, cherished, loved and believed,
its wisdom, our lives to fill.

No treasures can be found
in pristine and unturned pages.
Only gold diggers of this Holy Book
can extract the Rock of Ages.

9/25/2020

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Click Here to contact Carol Connell to request permission to use this poem.