Slave of the Spine

The heart of the tale lay down the spine
his eyes, glued on the revelations,
knocking on the surface that once were flapping tides.

Spiral musings sit on every line,
His screeching tongue now silenced,
snapped shut by pages of lips,
bathed by sweet candlelight.

Once, he went catching silver sun lights on leather palms;
And tied songs in paperback rhyme.
But he marched a tune, once upon a time,
walked hand in hand with sunrise;
strings of manuscripts, passages, gripped in aging hands,
watched forever unfold in his old eyes;
The immortal- slave of the spine