Dusty Bible

It sits upon the wood beside my bed, I see it there, and yet I turn back and look the other way instead.

But every once in a while, I'm told that this weight will grow. And I will reach out for it because I have nowhere to go.

I lift the cover, let the pages fall, And in that moment, I'll confess it all. But once the prayer is breathed, I turn the light, And leave it resting back within the night.

It's like I take one shallow step toward Grace. Then miles of desert fill the empty space. A million steps away, I drift and I roam, Forgetting how to find my way back home.

And why I do this, I can't truly say— The answer hides a thousand leagues away.

My dusty Bible waits for me to move, To find the mercy and that ancient love. But still, I let the dull stillness sit; I see the lamp, but will not kindle it.

It burns me now, this friction in my soul, This cycle that I cannot quite control.

I'm tired— Of the way I choose to stay, Frustrated that I throw the gold away.

This dust remains like a ghost. This dusty Bible Waits for the one who needs it most. By Deiphibakor Lyndem.