The words of the divine
fill more than pages,
more than buildings of wood and stone.

They are in every crack and creek,
every groan and every peek.
They roam the deserts, mountains, moors,
roam the valleys, forests, shores.

Long ago they courted sages
who copied them to sacred pages;
bound in leather, shared with all:
rich and poor, great and small.

The words, however, continued on –
inspiring new stories, songs.
A living legacy, born again,
with each generation who found them.

And God is still speaking, to those who would hear,
with open hearts and open ears,
while zealots guard, with deadly swords,
the molted husks of living words.

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