Word

As my eyes peruse the shelves for news,
Information delicately cast in jewels,
My mouth waters, hungry for refreshing clues,
To help my soul figure out this puzzle.

Only to be sent again,
To another unsatisfying dead end,
Thus, I give my knees a bend,
And check out what's on the next shelf.

But it too hold no answers,
From book to book my eyes like dancers,
Spear and thrust emptily, discouraging lancers,
And so I leave alone.

Only to recognize when I reach home,
That on my table lay the Golden Tome,
The precious gift right of the Father's throne,
And I open to read - the Spirit-breathed - Holy Bible.