Wizard's Tome

by Erik Bundy

Its opalescent cover: dragon leather overlapped

with scales shimmering oyster-shell hues

and hammered iron hinges open not to strength

but only to gentle magic and yearning.

Its runes read aloud in hissing firelight to children

pulse with life, reveal in peacock-fan display

of fables in color, of talking animals, of monsters,

of what children might become. It dreams for them.

Teenagers, it excites with heroes who brave desert

and forest, who kill giants with fireworks and steel;

it tells of women who change nations and accept love.

In dreams, they hold the sword or knight’s homage.

For mothers and fathers, its words honor

their sacrifices, it comforts them with myths, tells

how they must behave but explains not evil.

They dream its magic will shelter their society.

For those who believe only in black and white,

it plumps meager lives with power, with meaning.

Its runes, acid ink on parchment pages, tell truths

they make lies. They dream their righteous beliefs.

For the wise, every word is a tiny oasis

on sand-colored pages, each letter a cool sip,

sometimes water, sometimes wine, sometimes milk.

As with the children, it dreams for them.