“Slam poem about "dusty bibles we need to start reading. it is interesting. look at these crazy stories.”

Blow the dust off—see?  
This isn’t just an old hush,  
not dried leather decaying on Grandma’s shelf  
under faded doilies and glass-eyed angel figurines—  
this is a thunder, boxed and breathless,  
a bear-trap locked jaw tight on centuries.

Crack that spine.  
Hear the paper flicker—embers.  
There’s a boy with a slingshot,  
staring down a giant who snarls like all your doubts  
after midnight.  
There’s a garden so golden,  
you can almost taste morning dew between the lines,  
and a snake that whispers like the rumors in your halls.

Look at these stories,  
crazy? Sure.  
Locusts raining, rivers parting like curtain calls,  
bones rising to dance,  
lions lying down with men who refuse to bend—  
tell me this isn’t the wildest book in your house.

It’s a ship guarding beasts so weird  
even Sci-Fi would swipe left,  
it’s burning bushes, talking donkeys,  
food dropping from the clouds and  
fishermen who walk on lakes,  
heart pounding like a second sunrise in your chest.

We need to start reading—  
not out of duty or decorum,  
but because you are story-shaped,  
and there are stories here that’ll make you  
laugh, shout, or sit still for a while  
and taste the copper tang of doubt  
when Jonah sinks in a whale’s belly,  
Elijah outruns rain,  
Esther risks it all for ‘if I perish, I perish.’

So dust it off—  
not just with feathered cloth  
but with the hungry shake of curiosity.  
Crack the code, claim the scandal,  
join the chase—  
see how wild faith can be  
when you let the ancient tales  
grab you by the collar,  
whisper “still here,”  
and pull you, breathless,  
into the chase of wonder again.

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