The Man With The Book Poem by James Casey

The Man With The Book

The room was so dark and existed in such a vain
Not a shred of sunlight penetrated the painted window pane
A beer smelling smog ruled the dimly lit air
Bottles of death lined the shelves, seemingly without care

As I lay there, drunk, in demoralizing defeat
I suddenly felt a gentle hand raising me to my feet
Though I can barely see through eyes of blurry sand
I see a handsome man with a book in his hand

Before me, he stands, brimming with confidence and contentment
I see, that unlike the others, he bares me no resentment
He is very humble, yet holds himself up proud
For he knows exactly what is holding me down

Looking in my eyes, this man sees no wrong
For not so long ago, it was he himself that far gone
I have nothing left in the world at all
Why did you pick me up from my latest fall?

' I once too, had nothing left in the world either
I felt as useful as the deadliest of fevers
I had once had my head buried in the sand
But I too was found by a Man with a book in his hand '

'In that book there is a way to be free of it
It is true an answer does exist
Would you like to come and see it? '
Why did this man not me abhor
He knew the pain of that cold bar room floor

Seeing nothing but the smile on his face
I begged him to take me out of this terrible place
We passed out the door and into the light
Finally escaping the darkness of endless night

Where we were going, I did not care I needed out of there
It would certainly be better than anyplace that I was aware
I then heard a song being played by a very good band
I realized it was my heart, thanking the man with the book in his hand

Jim 1961