Jesus saith, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away” (Matthew 24.35) and “I have food to eat about which you know nothing” (John 4.32)

The pages, leather-bound –
once new, gilt-edged fresh,
crisp (like sheets swathing, caressing an awaiting lover’s body)
with longing to be touched,
revered –
o’er time, dog-eared worn,
carelessly, callously torn;
the cover closed
by halfhearted hands impatiently given to other cares,
lesser duties
than cherishment of the Word.


Yet that Word,
as its Speaker
(yea, that Speaker Who is the Word),
is eternal,
calling, crying incessantly,
confronting, confounding wisdom worldly,
converting famished hearts weary of feeding on food that sustaineth not.

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