a voice crying out in the postmodern wilderness

Old Books

She's tired of old books
The same story
Flipping pages with bruised hands
His hands paragraphs of condemnation
She'd rather not have read
Chapters of fear
The antagonist shares a sink
No one knows
Never again, yet again and again
The old book, it's worn pages stained in strife
But a new book arrived today
New to her, anyway
It's an old book
Some would say archaic
She flips through thin gold-edged pages
Stories and lineages
And truth
And promises kept
She's never met the hero until today
She even bows her head
Folds her weary hands
Something changes inside
This old book, a new story

When the King Returns

Into a Crouch