I once stood in darkness past,
Drowning in a sea of sin.
I had no thoughts of what to grasp,
I had no idea where I had been.
But one day a man spoke to me,
By unknown means he said to be
Free from the slavery that held me tight;
I must let go of my sinners plight.
I had no power to do such a thing.
I had no voice with which to sing.
I had but one bitter plea:
Lord Save me.
How do I know this God above?
How can I be familiar with his love?
How can I be a captive free,
When just days before evil beset me?
There is but one collection of things,
Words on a page,
Ancient writings.
It has no special name.
It has no glam or bling.
Its salesman died violent deaths,
And in their free and dying breaths
They spoke its words as they were laid to rest.
These words are known by no flashy names.
They are old, tattered, and torn.
Of blood and death they were brutally born,
Written by men whose hearts were in tune
With the one who made the sun and the moon.
To some it is enemy,
To some it is friendly.
To some it brings judgement,
To some it brings eternity.
Peace and prosperity,
Whether heavenly or earthly.
Some it has made wealthy,
Some it has made healthy.
Some it is a curse,
To some it is the worst.
One thing is for certain,
It still stands unburdened
By opinions or power.
Kings cannot destroy it.
Men cannot stop it.
It cannot be silenced.
Though it may not be read,
It pierces the heart of the living
And the dead.
It raises to new life those who heed its calling,
Its judgement solid,
Its King without folly.
There is no other name more precious,
In all the earth it rings.
How could ever men let this
Be the book by which judgement rings?
But no man has had the power
In all of his earthly hour
To bring this book to its knees.
They have all passed
Like a gentle breeze.
Its might above all things,
Great or small.
It rules in silence over all.
It hangs in courtrooms and dinner halls.
It lays on tables and in bathroom stalls.
There is no place on earth that can hide
From the words written on the inside
Of this book with the title oh so plain:
The Bible is its name.
So cry as you will,
Beg for evidence.
Demand it prove itself,
While you live for decadence.
But it will never bow to you.
It will never be reduced
To sit beneath the feet of eternity or its youth.
It will always reign above all names,
Simple as it may be.
The books are not like other holy things,
For it is by this book all things came to be.
The Books are the collection of the words of the Maker,
The instruction to the men of great stature.
Great or small,
Short or tall,
The books are king over all.
Laugh and scoff,
Mock and scorn,
Cry or mourn.
You are equal in its sight,
And it will always judge your plight.
You think you are right,
The books will judge.
You think you are King,
The books will Judge.
You think you can end something so powerful
With empty words forgotten in an hour or so.
You say there is no KIng that rules over you,
But even those who hate the books
Serve willingly in the cause to drive men to pause,
To check their ways,
To judge their days.
In their laughter they spread
The truth its said,
Though they have never read.
Heavy heavy hangs over their head.
Its mercy great,
Its judgement true.
When you face its power what do you do?
Do you bow before its might,
Do you laugh in arrogant spite,
As if you held the power to
End its reign when it simply says,
I will see you soon.
No matter your place in life,
It demands truth by its might.
You cannot deny it,
You cannot defy it.
In the end this simple name reigns,
It causes all of your pains.
Moving men like pawns
To the eternal dawn,
When its writer shows his face
And evil is erased.
Such a simple name,
“ the books”
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