Books

Thick with dust and smells not only of books,

This place,

Full of the gatherings of the years, some read, some even sealed,

Caught in a clearing wind,

Post-interest,

Post-death.

And on a page in biro,

A name connects

And I hear words reluctantly spoken decades old:

Arrogant.

Manipulative.

Judgmental.

Dead now,

And here his books 

Browsed, 

Riffled, 

Taken or left.

I read it or heard it but I knew 

And did not mourn as I mourn now.  

Who came and cleared out his study?

There was no wife, no parent.

Was there not someone who would keep his Bible?

Every page cracked, creased, crumpled,

Where truth was quarried,

Where vision was sought,

Where peace was certainly craved.

Now £4.50p.

I should buy it.

But why?  

Leave,

And trust that what he has lost cannot compare

With what he has gained.

2 Timothy 3:16-17

6 All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, 17 so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.