What would man be like without it?
How could man know what to do?
By shelving it, there would be war
No voice could be heard
No individual could lay hands on themselves
No hope in this life or the next
Every thing changes without it
Every man must at least have God in paperback
Every accent and root must produce a fresh sermon
Every year a new and better denomination must evolve
Does she still have to walk the yellow brick road?
What if the beginning or end is never revealed?
Does she still get to compose new chapters with her silver slippers?
What if the chromium rich land and gem-shelled sky has already come?
What if the one book just witnessed to its coming magic?
What if that magic already flows to all four corners of the land?
Does she get to drink of it or not, to swim with or against its current?
What if all we ever see is the end of the beginning?
Does she still co-author each season of life?
Every year a branch could be grafted in
Every day another wound would begin to heal
Every man could then safely draw near to their cocoon
Every thing in the cosmos would change with new wings
No one could cast a spell or a curse on anyone but themselves
No concordance or confession could define it perfectly
No voice could be muted
By putting down all weapons, there would be peace
Does she want peace or a sword?
Must we drop the magic book to taste and see Goodness?