Ode on a Handwrought Book
When are you from – what manner
Of Man has placed their skin
On your skin – heard your voice?
Silent musings.
Nails etch your binding – strip
The bondage of nature held
Between fallen pages –
Scorched Earth.
Your smell still lingers
In the minds of Men who pass –
The soil of your youth,
Greener pastures.
What manner of secrets glue
Skin, hoof, tree, and mind –
The truest testament of
Human evolution.
Without tongue, how else
Would Men without ears
Heed your wisdom?
Closed eyes.
The coarseness of calloused
Pages can comfort the cruel
Nature of consciousness –
God’s gift.
What thoughts of thinkers
Speak within your embrace,
Yearning to be heard by
Consciousness again?
Are you scared like us?
Worry of immolation?
Engulfed in flame?
How fragile.
How do we open
The un-openable?
Reveal ourselves as you do?
“We are all scared.”