The book lay in a graveyard with the dead.
Its derelict cover, strewn with fallen leaves.
Presumed a relic of the past.
Upon the cover of the book, a faded cross
(but still visible and remembered) glows in the darkness.
The past, the present and the future
Stored in its faded pages.
A modern artefact bustling world
Turns its back on its creator,
Whilst amassing huge arsenals of weapons
Which now hang over us, like the Sword of Damocles.
Yet this forgotten book,
Holds our only hope of paradise and immortality.
Precious promises are recorded and preserved
For us in its pages.
Looking back over this worlds turbulent past,
We have seen so many disasters and injustices,
We carry this worlds tears and shame.
We cannot turn back time,
Or rewrite history pages,
So let's make the world better, for future ages,
Let's think about history,
And make the world better, for the next century.

Julia Ann Holliday

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-book/