The Book
                               By Raven Lemay


                Across from darkened hall, behind closed door,
                       a small lamp flickers faithfully.
                    I sit with feet upon the cold stone floor
                Worn smooth by those who've journeyed before me.

                      The light of candle falls upon my pen
                    And illuminates the Word and Way for me.
                    The shadows they rise up and fall again
                 But the colors they are bright enough to see.

                  The twisting Vine around the Word does grow
                with gilt-gold leaves and fruits so ripe and rare
                and becomes a candle - with red flame all aglow
                 and the flame becomes the Lion's golden hair.

                    I turn the page, and there before my eyes
                    The Word illumines brighter than before
                     The stars and universe enfold It round
                        as cherubim and seraphim adore.

                   With silver moon and stars around her feet
                    The Universe enfolds her with Its Grace.
                For she bears the Cosmic Child of Light so sweet
              The Undying Sun who holds the world in His embrace.

                      I wrap a woolen cloak around my frame
                to ward off the chill and drafty winds of night
                 That shake and try to squelch the Candle flame
                   and make dark - the Word before my sight.

                      For I myself am drawn into the scene
                    In colors bright - alive and many hued.
                      I see in myself the Vine so evergreen
                        Myself with candle flame imbued.

                    I know not yet the writing on this page
                   for the Author of it alone directs the pen
                 But when the time is ripe for the Word unknown
              I will pick up this book and write and read again.